The Promise in the Good Bye
by Mali Bear's Buddy
Summary: Is there a moment where the spark between two people ignites or fades? Chapter 14 - Pretend You're Not My Partner: Booth. Brennan. The fig tree. Yes, I went there. Mind the "M" rating and create a different memory for Season 6's hated fruit.
1. The Promise in the Good Bye

**A/N** - Ever wonder what happened between the end of the last case and the scene at the airport? After Huluing the finale several times and reading some speculation this is where my mind went - straight to the gutter.

**6/9/11 - After nearly a 6 month hiatus due to a hectic work schedule, I'm ready to come back to this story. Gearing up to finish it, I'm going to go through and make minor edits to each chapter. It is not my intent to be one of those writers who alters the integrity of the story you know or makes major changes. For those who are curious, it should end up 25 Chapters in length.**

**If you are finding this story for the first time, welcome to my version of Season 6. If you have loved it as much as I have, welcome back. To each of you - thank you for your support. Without you, I wouldn't be here.**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones. Anything you recognize belongs to Fox.

Chapter One: The Promise in the Good-Bye

It's been said there is a moment when the spark between two people will either ignite, burning hot and bright, or fade, growing cold and distant. People who believe that are wrong. They know nothing about the binding threads that tie two people together or how fate pulls them back to one another time and again. Amateur scientists, and even some professionals, know nothing about the power of love.

In the darkest moments before the dawn a woman slips into an apartment. Snapping the lock back into place, she leaves her purse on the table by the door and tiptoes down the hallway to the bedroom not wanting to wake him. _What kind of life is she living? Is it the same life she was living an hour ago? A day ago? A year ago? _

He lays on his side in the queen-sized bed. Bare chested, only his lower body covered by the dark cotton of the bed sheet. For a moment, she admires the way the lamp light from the parking lot slips over his skin in a lover's caress. _Who is this man? Do they live separate lives or is it a single life shared?_

She toes out of her shoes and hurriedly strips off her jeans and light sweater. Wearing only a thin camisole and white cotton panties, she climbs beneath the sheet beside him. She inches as close as she dares not wanting to wake the sniper from his slumber, surprised she has not alerted his knife-sharp senses.

"Bones?" His voice is husky with sleep and he reaches for her, sure she's a dream. A figment of his love-starved imagination. Many nights she's come to him; stealing into his bed. But unlike his usual dreams, his hand comes in contact with supple flesh. He can feel her breathing.

The last time they shared a moment, he had been the gambler. She made a mistake that night. Now, it's her turn to take the risk. Going all in was irrational. Then again, it was rational thinking that had him checking into the base in 4 hours and her scheduled on a flight to the Maluku Islands in approximately 34.

Her hand floats over his face, light stubble scratching her palm. "Do you love me?" she asks, voice unsteady, fingers slipping into his hair.

His eyes are still half closed. "You want me to prove it to you?" he asks, leaning slightly over her, his large hand coming to cup her cheek.

She turns her lips to brush over the tattoo on his inner wrist and strokes her fingertips up the back of his neck. He shudders. "If you're not too sleepy," she says softly.

His lips brush lightly over hers. "Baby," he mumbles. "Mmmm." His touch is effortless; the tips of his fingers hover over her skin mapping the curves of her body in the darkness. His hands glide underneath the soft cotton of her top and brush from her slim waistline up to the underside of her breasts. Unable to resist, his thumbs graze wickedly over their taut peaks.

Her hands move over him, nails scraping down his back and below the sheet to find him completely naked to her touch. She drags him close, pulling him down on top of her. Her tongue darts out to trace over his lips before moving to examine the hollows and recesses of his mouth.

He pulls back but not away. "Baby," he mutters in between kisses. "Baby, are you sure about this?" His eyes are completely open now and he cradles her beneath him. He wants this, _her_, more than he's ever wanted anything in his entire life. He's torn. Unsure if his heart can handle risking she might feel differently in the light of day.

Her heart is hammering wildly in her chest. Just because she doesn't have the capability to voice how she feels doesn't mean she feels nothing. Pushing him onto his back gently but undeniably, she straddles him and reaches over to the nightstand to turn on the lamp.

It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust to even the soft wattage of the bulb, but when he does he's transfixed by her face. Her always-collected facade lowered, her elegant features bathed in pure emotion. Hope. Desire. Longing. _And dare he even consider it? _ Love. There's no trepidation; no hesitancy.

Slowly and without taking her eyes off his, she reaches down to the hemline of her shirt and pulls it over her head. His breath catches at the sight of her alabaster skin. He sits up pressing bare chest to bare chest and embraces her. His hands tangle in her hair and he uses the leverage to pull her mouth back to his.

This isn't exactly how he'd imagined this would happen. A romantic, he'd always figured there'd at least be candlelight. He knows he's got to bring his A-game and create a memory to sustain them for the next year. Something that will have them picking up _here_ when they get back. This is it; both the end and the beginning.

His lips move over her throat. They should be talking about this. He knows that. Hell, he figures she probably knows it, too. "Baby," he places a sucking kiss at the juncture where the graceful column of her neck slips into the milky smoothness of her shoulder. "Temperance," he continues to mark her, drawing a whimper. "This is for keeps," his assault continues. "I'll give you tonight, but a year from now you have to make a choice."

She squirms in his lap wantonly. "Booth..." Her arousal is quickly ripening and climbing ever higher. She tugs at his earlobe with her teeth. "Please..."

He'd never have pegged Temperance Brennan for a beggar. Still, he's not swayed from his mission. "The coffee cart a year from today," his heart nearly breaks all over again as he prepares himself to give her the out. "If you meet me there, I'll know you want me and that this is going somewhere." He doesn't look at her; he knows he'll break if he does. "If not.."

She crushes her mouth over his, stopping him from completing the utterance. "Stop talking," she commands. Her hands move down to stroke him and a small smirk touches her face at his size and reaction to her petting.

Not about to concede control, he forces her into the pillows with a blistering kiss. With one arm he props himself up, allowing his free hand to dance gentle circles over her chest and down her abdomen. His hand skims lower touching the only clothing left between them. He teases her, stroking the damp fabric and making them both twitch - her body needing more, his at the evidence of her desire.

He clings to her, his mouth leaving a scorching trail of kisses down her body. He nuzzles against her and finds the rough stubble of his jawline seems to further excite her. She wiggles trying to direct his ministrations and he is unable to hold back his need for her any longer. Ripping her panties away, he kisses her intimately causing her hips to come off of the bed.

"Booth!" she cries out. The sensation of his breath and tongue push her that much closer to the edge. "Oh, God..."

He smiles. _Nothing like making a professed atheist call out for the deity she doesn't believe in._ He varies pressure and movements. Watching her, he waits for the little tells, the signs that her body is, for now at least, all his. He takes his time. There's no need to rush it.

And there. _Right there._ His fingers and his mouth continue to pay their homage. She splinters, shattering beneath his touch and crying out his name as the full force of her orgasm hits her.

She's limp. Never before has she felt so thoroughly satisfied by the act of oral stimulation. She claws at him, dragging him up until his lips plunder hers. She can taste her own arousal in the kiss. She wraps a leg around his waist, silently offering herself to him.

_The great Temperance Brennan, speechless. He could get used to that._ He immediately attempts to brush the thought aside as he thrusts into her. Burned by her heat, he knows he's done for. There is no turning back after tonight, not for him. As he looks into her eyes, feels her shudder, he allows hope to kindle within him. If nothing else, this is going to be a night they will never forget.

* * *

After a shower, he puts on his fatigues. For the next year this will be his suit and he'll be carrying a very different gun. He leans down and brushes a gentle kiss over her forehead, hoping this isn't the last and only time he'll wake up beside her.

She smiles up at him through heavy lidded eyes. "Hey," she mutters.

"Baby, I've gotta go. I'm due on base in 45 minutes," he sees pain in her eyes. "I don't know if I'll be able to get to see you off at the airport tomorrow..."

She sits up, clutching the sheet under her arms. "About that," she kisses him. It's deep and slow. It's as if she's memorizing the feel of his lips on hers, the way their tongues meld together, everything. "I don't want you to kiss me if you come. If you do, I'll never be able to get on my flight."

He nods. Leaning in, he gives her a gentle kiss and slips a thin chain around her neck.

"What's...? Booth, it's your St. Christopher medal. I can't..."

He feels his faith slipping. "Please, Bones? Just take it, that way I'll be with you even when we're apart."

She searches his eyes and nods knowing this will bring him comfort. "I accept your logic."

"I've really gotta go." It's his turn to build walls. He's halfway to the front door when he feels her hand on his arm.

It's her turn to rescue him, to save him from his doubts. She holds the sheet around her with one hand and uses the other to pull his mouth down to hers. She looks into his eyes, "The coffee cart a year from today."


	2. The Aftermath of the Airport

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones.

Chapter Two: The Aftermath of the Airport

She leans back in her first-class seat and closes her eyes. If she concentrates, she can still feel his mouth, his tongue, moving over the little hollow where her neck becomes her shoulder. She touches his mark with an odd sense of euphoria and smiles.

She hadn't really dated in high school. Sure, she'd had sexual intercourse in college. She'd satisfied her biological urges even more as an adult. Still, she couldn't remember having a hematoma like this before. She had thought that coupling a scarf with her light coat would hide it from their friends. But Angela - _of course it would be Angela_ - pulled her aside.

"_Spill."_

"_Spill what? I'm not holding anything liquid."_

"_Quit pretending you don't know what I mean. You can start by explaining the hickey."_

"_Booth and I..."_

"_Are you together?"_

"_I...I don't know. He said he wants me to meet him in a year..."_

They hadn't really discussed what they were at the moment. Maybe she should have asked him. She has no idea what any of this means. She's not good with relationships like she is with sex.

Only what she shared with Booth transcended sex and the mere satisfaction of biological urges. It was different. It made her feel different. If she were to judge it from a purely clinical perspective, Seeley Booth was every bit the giving lover she imagined he'd be. His abilities as a romantic partner could be easily rationalized by his bone structure, musculature and alpha-male traits.

She sighs. She's never been with anyone like Booth. Never shared that kind of intimacy with anyone else. It's as though she's been wearing blinders. Blinders that were stripped away, allowing sunlight to pierce her eyes and face. Suddenly uncomfortable, she twists in her chair. Tears threaten to pour out as a torrent of unfamiliar emotion sweeps in, threatening to drag her under. She can't breathe. She can't do this. She doesn't know how to deal with it.

Flashing back, it's the Checker Box all over again and he's lying in her arms bleeding out. It's the four days he lay in a coma after the brain tumor while she sat at his bedside unsure if she would look into his coffee-colored eyes again.

_Was the chance at having him worth the risk of losing him? Wouldn't she just fuck it all up and drive him away? _White-knuckles dig into her armrests as she squeezes her eyes shut tightly, trying - _trying trying_ - to bring herself back to center.

But he _is_ her center. _What has she done? _ In effort to keep _him_ from abandoning her _she_ had abandoned him.

She wishes she could write them out of this mess. Write him out of a war zone and herself off this damned plane. Write them back into bed where she could awaken, safe and warm, in his embrace. Write him - _no, strike that. She could never write anything that remotely compared or described the way he made love to her._

She wraps her slender fingers around his medal. It's weight is a comfort and she's glad she accepted it. His words fill her ears.

"_Just take it, that way I'll be with you even when we're apart." _

_If only that were true. If only he was with her. _The desperation in his voice matched the way she felt now. For the first time in her adult life, Temperance Brennan was scared to be alone. Navigating this unknown landscape, the soaring peaks and plummeting valleys of love, without him beside her was unthinkable.

She imagines the pendent as it was two nights ago. Resting over his heart. The gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath it as she hovered over him. The way it was warmed by the heat of his body - and hers - as he sat up to embrace her.

A single tear runs over her pale cheek. Rather than wipe it away, she allows it to slip all the way to her chin.

One year. Twelve months. Three-hundred-sixty-five days. _Was it really that long in the grand scheme of things?_ When it meant not seeing his charm smile or tasting his kiss, not feeling his hand on the small of her lower back? It might as well be a century.

* * *

He wanted to kiss her at the airport. To hold her and show the depth of his feelings. But the entire squint squad had been there. _Talk about complications. They couldn't tell their friends until they'd sorted it out. It would make things that much more complicated, messy. _

Not doing it was so much harder than he thought it would be; but then she never made anything easy. Not feeling her lips on his, their tongues dancing. Not feeling her hair in his hands. _That was tough._ He'd half hoped that she'd change her mind and throw her arms around his neck. But he'd settled for holding her hand.

It wasn't like he couldn't remember what it felt like after less than 48 hours. _That would never happen._ Her lips were just the right combination of firm and pliant. They molded to his, a perfect give and take. A partnership where both, yet neither, of them were in control. Kissing her was going to quickly become his favorite past time. _They just needed to get through the next year..._

Standing under the streaming hot water, he rests his hands against the rear wall of the shower stall and enjoys the feel of the spray cascading over his tight muscles. Feeling a slight sting, he winces and turns the temperature down a notch. He quickly lathers up and washes shampoo from his hair before grabbing his towel and wrapping it securely around his tapered waist.

He runs a hand over his recently shorn hair. Turning he looks over his shoulder in the mirror and can't help but smile. _It appears that he isn't the only one who left a mark._

He thinks about his last tour as he stares at the dog tags hanging around his neck. Putting toothpaste on the brush, he contemplates his situation. His feelings for Brennan are entirely different than his feelings for Rebecca had been.

Still, at least with Rebecca he knew how their relationship was defined. He knew, at least for the most part, what to expect. There had been the tearful good-byes, the ridiculous letters, the semi-naughty photos. It was typical and predictable. When he came back there had ultimately been Parker.

Temperance Brennan was a wild card, as unpredictable as a dealer's shuffle. He knows he's going to have to let her come to him - like she did that night. Instantly, he's carried back to when she flicked on the bedside lamp and allowed him to watch her as they made love: her face, her crooked smile, the way her blue eyes rolled back as she climaxed.

_The memory is set in stone: sounds, smells, everything. Forever_. _His eyes took a minute to adjust but her radiance alone could have lit the room as she pulled her shirt over her head and cast it to the floor. He had been unable to breathe for a moment as he took in the sight of her naked chest. All he wanted was to feel her skin on his. Feel her. Feel every second of that moment._

Booth chuckles as his body hardens in response to the memory. He spits the toothpaste into the sink and flushes it down the drain. He tosses the toothbrush and paste back into his shaving kit. He takes a deep breath. _He'll be counting down the days._


	3. The Silence of June

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bones.

Chapter Three: The Silence of June

He sighs heavily as he watches his trainees wrap up their drills for the day. Pulling a bandanna from his uniform pocket, he blots away the evidence of the Afghani heat. It's hot, sandy and miserable. _Every bit the paradise he'd dreamt it would be._

He finds himself distracted. It's been over three weeks - almost a full month really - since they parted. He had been so sure of the situation. She had, after all, followed him to his door. She had repeated that they would meet at the coffee cart in a year then and again at the airport.

Still. Nothing. _Not a damn word from her._ And, just as the embers of hope blazed to life within his heart when she came to him, he finds the cold fingers of doubt creeping in and taking hold the longer they're apart. He's not sure what to think. He's been busy training young snipers, but not so busy that he couldn't have found time to write her.

_Should he write to her? Was he wrong to believe that she needed to make the first move? She was probably just busy, right? Bones was like that._

A pang of regret hits as he wonders who's taking care of her now. For the better part of the last five years, he's been making sure she ate. That she slept. Dragging her out of the lab or showing up with late night take-out. Reminding her that even genius scientists needed their rest.

He smiles and shakes his head. Her dedication is one of the many things he loves about her. Early in their partnership, he'd found her asleep at one of the work tables in the lab having been up all night reassembling a skull. Restoring the identities of faceless murder victims was a passion he had thrust upon her. Pushing her to share in the task of evening out his cosmic balance sheet. Landing them where they were today - apart.

_Okay, so that last part wasn't completely true. _It was just one of_ several _catalysts_._ But that doesn't end the mental battle he keeps having with himself trying to figure out what to do. He doesn't want to push, but now - especially now - he's seeing the things he's seeing, watching young soldiers getting injured or worse. More than ever he needs her to know that he loves her. That he will always love her.

Being in the desert screws with your head. In the heat of the day, you find yourself seeing things that aren't really there. But what's even rougher are the nights when the temperature drops and the chills seeps bone deep. It's the nights when he really has time to think about her. To wish she was there with him, in bed, keeping him warm by pressing her soft body against his.

He chuckles. It's still shocking that even after only one night with her he can visualize her form with the clarity of a lifetime of such experiences. It's never been that way with anyone else. No other woman has ever marked his body, heart or memories like she has.

Buoyed by her effect on him, Booth walks to the mail desk. It's a task he has completed nearly every day for the last month. He gives Adams a nod and the younger man shakes his head, offering a sad smile. "Nothin' today, Sarge."

* * *

It's early. Well, not really early, but early for her to have stopped working. It's only just barely 9:30 p.m. She's exhausted both physically and emotionally. Being away from him is taking it's toll.

She steps over to the make-shift desk in her tent and settles her lamp on the edge of the table. She should be cataloguing the day's findings, but instead she pulls a fresh sheet of paper from the pile and picks up her pen. She stares at it for a minute thinking about how little people actually use paper and ink anymore with the advent and popularity of computers and email. But access to email is limited.

_Yeah. Limited. As in you really can't stare at a blank screen with it's flashing cursor willing the words to flow. You can't crumple unsent emails with a satisfying crunch and cast them aside, orphans in a storm of emotions. Well, you could but that would require printing them first and access to printing is even more limited than access to email._

And she sits. Staring at the blank page. Unsure of what to say to him. She's attempted to start this letter so many times - almost every night for the last month - but the words just haven't come. She's a best-selling author, surely she can put her feelings into words and let him know how she's doing.

He's the heart person. He's the person she would usually go to with questions about this kind of thing. Only he's not here and it's her fault. _What had she done?_

She doesn't know how to be emotional. She's unsure of being the woman in love - _is she in love?_ - writing to a man in a war zone. Her mind is racing. She's tormented with thoughts and feelings.

Looking down she realizes she's been scribbling words onto the paper. _ Finally_. She's on to something. She knows what to write. She knows how to break the silence.


	4. The Devastation in the Desert

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones.

Chapter Four: The Devastation in the Desert

Nearly three months. Eight weeks. Well, fifty-four days really. _Silence_. Not as much as a postcard telling him she was okay. He's moody and he's taken it out on his men. The hope that he's so carefully held onto is slipping away like grains of sand in the desert wind.

It's time to retire for the evening. And that's exactly the problem. When the cold of night sneaks in, all he has is time to remember. Time for her to haunt him.

He closes his eyes and all he can see is her face. His thoughts run to the second time they made love that night. It had been more playful than the first but no less meaningful. If he concentrates - _not that it really takes much effort_ - he can feel her in his lap. Smell the combination of her shampoo and her arousal. Hear the breathy way his name escapes her parted lips as her climax draws closer.

But it isn't just about sex. Making love to her had surpassed every fantasy that he'd ever had of being with her. But it had never been about _that_. This wasn't the mere "satisfaction of biological urges," it was deeper. Far deeper. She was everything and he was nothing without her.

She'd unknowingly helped him stop gambling. Well, gambling on everything except her and he didn't know if he'd ever be able to rid himself of that addiction. She'd made him a better agent. A better father. She'd moved heaven and earth to save him from a watery death when he'd been captured by the Gravedigger.

In spite of everything she'd been through with her family's abandonment and in foster care, she'd made something of herself. Rather than being a world-renowned forensic anthropologist, she probably ought to be a waitress with a mess of kids and an addiction of her own. A lesser woman would have crumbled. But she was fierce and tough and she had beaten the odds. Once you knew her, _really _knew her, you'd be a fool not to realize how special she was.

He wants, no _needs_, to know what's on her mind. What she's thinking. How she's feeling. But he knows she's got to be the one to make contact. He's promised himself that. She had given him a gift in coming to him that night. A glimpse at the possibility of a future, _their _future. He needs to let her control the situation.

_Dammit, Bones, just put me out of my misery and give me a sign, _he finds himself thinking for the umpteenth time.

"Hey, Sarge," a voice calls from outside his tent. "You decent?"

"Yeah, Adams, come on in," he says with a sigh.

"You were out running exercises and missed mail call." He knows Booth's story without really knowing it. He's seen the look of a man hungering for word from his woman or thirsting for a letter from his kid all too often. Booth is both. The difference was at least his kid wrote.

Usually post closed up at 5 and it was well after 10. Booth smiles. Parker's letters were frequent. Childish scrawl across the page about sports, school, things he had done that landed him in hot water with his mom and Captain Fantastic. "Thanks for waiting up and getting it to me."

Adams smiles and holds out two envelopes. "I figured this might put you in a better mood," he says with a wink. "Night, Sarge."

"Night, Adams," he says as he moves back to his cot. Sitting down, he looks at the top envelope. _Parker_. But the second envelope is heavier. He can tell without opening it that it contains more than a single page. The postmark is foreign. Parker's letter slips from his fingers and flutters into his lap. _Indonesia. Bones._

He tears it open, the hint of her penmanship making his heart race. As he unfolds the letter, her face looks back at him from a photo wrapped in the pages. She's squatting beside a hole in worn cargo shorts and boots. The blue of her shirt doesn't do justice to the color of her eyes. She squints in the sun with a soft smile, holding a brush between her elegant fingers. He smiles wishing like hell it was his hand and not the worn hat the rested between her shoulder blades.

He finds himself nervous as he pries his eyes from her face and turns to her careful script.

_June 29, 2010_

_Booth,_

_At first, I didn't write because things were busy. It took me over three weeks to organize and restructure this project. They're very lucky to have me on this effort. If I hadn't taken over when I did, they would have continued to decimate the remains rendering the findings completely useless. I swear these people are more careless than some of the FBI technicians we've worked with. And this is their profession!_

_Surprisingly, Daisy, while annoying, has been an asset to me. That doesn't mean that I care for her any more than I used to, merely that I have found her to be useful. She serves a purpose. She has potential, but her enthusiasm and need to impress me often outweigh her focus._

_Then it was sheer exhaustion. While much of the equipment here is subpar and makes me long for my lab at the Jeffersonian, they have brought in some of the most superior lighting available to allow us to work around the clock. _

She went on for another three and a half pages. The dig this. Maluku that. It wasn't like he had expected a sweeping words of love or unwavering devotion. He'd just wanted to be validated. To know that she missed him the way he missed her.

He leans back on his bunk and thinks about it. Their night runs through his mind as if on instant replay, super slo-mo. She'd asked him if he loved her. He'd shown her - repeatedly. She'd been warm, pliant, beneath him. She'd moaned his name. _God, just the thought of her moaning was enough to arouse him. Even angry. Even tired._

Taking a line from the Temperance Brennan playbook he realizes he doesn't know what any of this means. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and says a silent prayer to Saint Jude asking for help with what he hopes isn't a lost cause. The request brings him little comfort.

He slams his fist into the bedding beneath him. He knows better than to respond to this. He knows if he does he'll say the wrong thing, causing further setback or ending any chance they have entirely. He growls in deep-seeded frustration. Deep down, he knows this isn't her fault but he's furious. His patience tested yet again, he thinks about the handful of people he'd like to line up in the cross-hairs of his rifle for hurting her.

In the moments before sleep lays claim over him, his mind starts racing again. _Christ. How is he going to get through the next 10 months without her? Moreover, what if she's changed her mind? What if this is one more gamble he's taken and lost?_

_This wasn't going to work. There would be no sleep tonight._ He gets up and leaves his tent. The air outside is crisp and the stars are bright. It's peaceful, but he's looking for clarity, not peace. The pins and needles from breathing the chilled air into his lungs match the way her letter stung him. He wants to throw something. Hit something. Break something the way his heart has been broken. _Screw hope._ Hope had done nothing but damn him to misery.

_Why had he fallen in love with a woman who was so Goddamn frustrating?_ He rakes a hand through his hair. Temperance Brennan was the most dangerous kind of addiction - the kind that helped and healed as much as she hurt and took away. And, as he well knew, the problem with addictions is that you don't know to quit even when they threaten to take you down; you need someone to stage an intervention.

Maybe it was like Mick sang: _You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes you just might find you get what you need. _ Screw what he wants. Maybe he needs to move on, for real this time. _Time. Damn it, he needed another fifty years, a lifetime, just another century or so. _What he needed was to try to love someone capable of loving him back. _And loving anyone else would take a lifetime. _He kicks at the sand with his boot, a low rumble escaping his throat.

"That was an unhappy noise," she says with a small laugh. "You okay there, big guy?"

The sniper spins around, chastising himself - _being unaware of your surroundings equals death in a place like this _ - and looks for the first time into her green eyes and gentle smiling face.

Her blonde hair bounces as she sticks out her hand in greeting, "Name's Hannah. Hannah Burley."


	5. Missing Him in Maluku

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones.

Chapter Five: Missing Him in Maluku

Temperance Brennan kneels in the dirt instructing a grad student in the finer points of freeing a skull from the sediment. She sighs heavily and arcs backward in an effort to relieve the ache in her spine. She misses the comfort and air conditioning of the lab.

More than that she misses the man who, by this time of day, would have placed his hand on the small of her back and whisked her away to the diner. She'd be stealing fries from his plate and refusing to try his apple pie. _Cooked fruit. Yuck._

She's surprised she hasn't heard from him. It's getting into August and she mailed her letter a month ago. Surely it couldn't take that long for it to reach him. _At this point she'd eat a whole damn pie just to be with him again._

"Daydreaming, Dr. Brennan?" asks Dr. Karen Andrews, the Australian archeologist, with a soft chuckle and a smile.

No one on the Maluku team questions or doubts Brennan's work ethic and she knows it. She stands and accepts the bottle of water Andrews offers her. The two women walk off to the side and sit on a large, flat stone. Brennan smiles sadly. "I was just thinking about where I would be if I wasn't here right now," she says with a hint of regret.

Karen laughs. "Why do I get the feeling it's the _who_ you'd be with and not the _where_ that matters?" When Brennan merely stares at her feet, she continues, "What's his name? Or her name for that matter..."

"Booth," she answers and stares into the distance. Cracking the cap on the bottle, she takes a long pull and allows a stream of water to flow down her throat. Just the sound of his name makes her long that much more deeply to talk to him - to hear the rich baritone of his voice, his laugh. And it makes her hurt all the more that he hasn't written her back. "Seeley. But no one really calls him by his given name." _Come to think of it, she hadn't even used it when they were in bed._

Karen nods. "Is it your first time apart?"

Brennan shakes her head. "No. We've had other projects that separated us, just never for such a lengthy period of time." She thinks about the case she worked with Sully while Booth was suspended, the short digs she'd been on during their partnership and the rare occasions he'd gone undercover without her.

She finds herself wondering if things would've been different if she'd stayed after his surgery rather than running off to Guatemala. If he had remembered her - the real her, not the dream version - would they be together celebrating the birth of a shared progeny now rather than being on separate continents?

"My husband and I have been married for over 14 years. He's constantly on me for running off on quests for what he calls my 'bits of junk.' Trips like this are our version of marriage counseling. I stay away long enough that he misses me and things always seem to work themselves out." She takes a drink from her bottle and offers Brennan a share of the crackers she has in her hand. "How long have you and this Booth been together?"

Brennan's brow furrows. "We..." _Are they? How does this keep coming up? Why is it that everyone... Oh. Shit. Shit, shit, shit._ She thinks back on the letter she wrote him.

If one actually became green when ill, she'd have turned olive. _Shit._ Her mouth drops open. She squeezes her eyes closed. _This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. _She knows why she hasn't heard from him. It's because he thinks she doesn't want him. Instead of telling him she missed him, she had written, in her usual hyper-clinical detail, about the dig.

_Why hadn't she addressed the nature of their relationship? Why hadn't she asked him about what she was feeling? Booth would have been able to understand and explain it to her. He always explained matters of the heart._

Her head is spinning. She shifts her position, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. _What if she had ruined everything?_

"Dr. Brennan? Tempe, are you okay?" Andrews puts her hand on Brennan's shoulder and waits for an acknowledgement that doesn't come.

* * *

In the wee, small hours of the morning, she shifts trying to find a comfortable position on the narrow cot. The faux pas with the letter has left her feeling rung out. Though it's been nearly two full weeks since she came to her realization, she still isn't sure what to do. _It's a complete fiasco. A failure of epic proportions._ She lays awake in bed thinking of all her missed chances and past mistakes. She wonders if she will ever be able to make it up to him. To be the woman worthy of his love.

At first, the anger she felt toward herself was blinding. After she had taken the time to cool off and calm down, she'd debated sending a small note of explanation. She had read and re-read so many different drafts that tears smudged crumpled-up pages.

She's thought about when he reached down and pulled her from inside the car when she was buried alive. About how he came with her and dug the hole when she buried Ripley. The time he had checked himself out of the hospital against medical advice to rescue her, straining his stitches to help her off the hook she'd been tethered to.

She's thought about their first kiss. Tequila-fueled outside the pool hall. Their second kiss. Under the mistletoe kiss at the behest of a puckish attorney. The third outside of the Hoover Building. The kiss where she desperately wanted to pull him closer, to claim him, but instead had pushed him away.

She's thought about the difference between having sex and making love. The way he held her, moved with her. The way her body responded to the many different ways and places he'd touched her. How different it felt being with him than it had with anyone else.

All the words she'd come up with seemed hollow, meaningless. They didn't come close to telling him what he needed to know. In a fit of frustration, she'd torn several drafts into tiny pieces and let them fall like snowflakes to the floor along with more tears.

She'd tried to recall the letter she had written as she and Hodgins were running out of air. Even that wouldn't have been good enough. So much had happened in the intervening years. If she's honest with herself, she had loved him in some way even then and, though she'd said she couldn't change, she truly had evolved considerably.

She's not sure why she's suddenly able to admit and acknowledge it now. Why it didn't come to her earlier - she is, after all, a genius. It's a rather interesting phenomenon - it's as though she is looking at an image restored with Angela's software. Her awareness heightened, everything coming into focus with heart-crushing clarity.

She gets up and fumbles to light her lamp. She sits at her desk and ponders all the things that have lead her to this moment. As she begins to write, she smiles as the words flow onto the page in rivers of emotion and ink.

She laughs and she cries. This is the letter he deserves. The letter that should have found it's way to him so much sooner. A letter she desperately hopes won't come too late.


	6. The Blonde on the Base

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones.

Chapter Six: The Blonde on the Base

Booth sits at his desk munching on some roasted nuts from Parker's care package. In his last letter, the boy had confessed to kissing Mandy Davis by the swings. Apparently, he was no longer the only Booth man with a propensity for blondes. He drafts a quick missive of thanks and fatherly advice to his kid and smiles thinking about the newest blonde in his own life.

* * *

"Name's Hannah. Hannah Burley." She senses his hesitancy. "Relax, soldier, I don't bite."

It's late. He's not really in the mood to talk to anyone, but there's no way to escape her. Heaving a sigh, he accepts her hand. "Booth. Seeley Booth."

"Had I known this was a James Bond movie, I'd have worn my catsuit." She chuckles and he can't help but smile. "You wanna talk about whatever's bothering you? I'll even promise to keep it off the record."

For the first time he sees the notepad in her hand and the press tag around her neck. "Great, a reporter. Probably the only thing worse than a shrink..."

She shakes her head, her eyes sparkle and the corner of her mouth twitches upward. "I resent that. I'm not a reporter. I'm a journalist."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

* * *

And that was how it began. Good, healthy, normal relationships thrive on conversation and camaraderie. She talked about journalism and why she'd taken this assignment. He talked about being called back to train young snipers and Afghani police. They talked about missing their families. About how hard it was to be away from the people they loved more than anything in the world.

Two strangers in the desert night. Ships that collided rather than passing in the dark. They ended up spending hours sitting in the sand talking beneath the stars. They shared secrets, telling each other little things that almost no one knew about them. It was cleansing. It felt _right_.

Meeting Hannah had changed him. He was lighter. Less hurt and angry. He was laughing and smiling again.

She was different. Her eyes were emerald, not aquamarine. Her hair golden rather than chestnut. Instead of having pale porcelain skin, she was a delicious sun-kissed caramel.

But perhaps the best thing: she loved pie.

* * *

"Oh, God, this is so awful," she complains even as she spoons another bite of pie into her mouth.

"Then don't eat it," he replies as he takes a bite of his own. His face screws up. He can almost hear Parker saying _That's disgusting!_ as he swallows and attempts a feeble smile.

"Told you," she says with a shake of her head. She watches him take another bite of the cherry mess. "Shouldn't you be taking your own advice?"

He shovels another forkful into his mouth. "I can't help it. It's a compulsion. Must. Have. Pie." He looks at her utensil and frowns. "Why are you eating it with a spoon?"

She takes another bite. "Can't help it. We used to pick apples and Nana Jo would make the best apple pie." In spite of the crime against pastry in front of her, her mouth waters just thinking about the flaky homemade crust. "We'd sit on the porch and eat it out of bowls with ice cream. With five of us kids, she said there was less of a mess with bowls and spoons than with plates and forks."

"Is apple your favorite?" he asks.

She smiles softly around the neck of the spoon and pulls it from her lips. "Yeah, I think it'd be fair to say that."

"It's mine, too."

* * *

They started eating together. Almost every meal. She took over his usual role, coming to get him and dragging him to the mess hall. It was nice to be taken care of. Weird, but nice. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it.

Like him, she was the oldest child of a Catholic family. She had three brothers and a sister. They talked about her youngest brother Sam's problems due to Autism and Jared's problems with alcoholism. They talked about Pops and how he was more of a dad than a grandfather. They talked about Nana Jo who helped raise Hannah and her siblings when her mother passed away.

There was a sweetness about her. Something wholesome in that whole milk, raised on a Midwestern farm kind of way.

* * *

"So, I've been meaning to ask you," he begins as they lay next to each other.

"What's that?" she hums as she turns to face him, using her arm for a pillow.

"Did you drop any houses on wicked witches before you left Kansas?"

She slugs him in the arm, "You did not just go there!"

"Yeah, I did." He smirks. "Dorothy."

She bare faces it, because that's what she does. Her face straight as can be, she looks him dead in the eye. "I did have an Aunt Emily though. Sometimes we called her Auntie Em."

He laughs so hard his sides hurt. He hasn't laughed that hard in a long time - if ever. It's nice to _finally_ spend time with a woman who understands pop culture references.

* * *

Hannah understood him. They had built the type of foundation strong relationships need in a short time. She was easy to talk to. To relate to.

They were cut from the same working class cloth. They shared the same values. The same interests. The same everything.

For the first time in a long time, he's smiling. He finds himself mooning and mourning over Brennan less and enjoying Hannah's company more. He starts to find peace.

* * *

They sit watching a group of Afghani kids fly kites. She has her camera and is snapping photos of them as they frolic in the late afternoon sun. A couple of older boys bounce a basketball between them.

Booth smiles. "Ah, those were the good old days," he says as he watches them. "God, when I was that age, Dr. J had an Afro that could fill up a room and was dunking from the free-throw line."

"That's nothing," she tells him. "He's great, but he's no Danny Manning. Manning singlehandedly got the Jayhawks a title playing on one leg."

They look at each other and, in unison the name, Larry Brown - who had coached both of their favorite teams - falls from their mouths. They chuckle, shoulders brushing together playfully as they laugh. _Yeah, they had sports in common too._

* * *

Later, when he gets back to his tent, he looks over Brennan's letter for the thousandth time. He grabs his pen and some paper. Sitting on his cot he begins to write to her.

The words fly onto the page with smiles and laughter. She won't understand half of it and he's not sure it matters anymore. All that matters is that he is, at least for now, happy.


	7. The Burdens That Allow Us to Fly

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bones.**

Chapter Seven: The Burdens That Allow Us to Fly

Brennan stands looking out over the water. The glistening rays of late afternoon sunlight shimmer and refract on it's surface. She thinks about the Reflecting Pool and, naturally, the way it does every time she thinks of home, her mind runs to Booth.

She wonders what he's doing at that moment. If he's gotten her letter. It had been over a week since she sent it. _Had she been foolish to wait? _

Daisy Wick bounds over, bringing her out of her stupor. "Mail, Dr. Brennan! It's a letter from Agent, I mean Sergeant Major, Booth!"

Brennan greedily snatches the letter from Daisy's hand and smiles at Booth's scrawl. _But wait. There was no way a reply to her last letter could have gotten to her that quickly._

"I wish my Lancelot would write me..." the girl fusses.

Brennan waves her away dismissively. "That will be all Miss Wick, you may return to camp."

Daisy sulks away as Brennan sinks cross-legged into the grass. She carefully tears the envelope open and pulls out Booth's letter to her. Taking a deep breath, she notes that it's dated a week prior to hers and reads:

_26 July 2010_

_Bones,_

_Glad to hear things are going so well with the dig. Sounds like they are very lucky to have you. I know the FBI was lucky to have had your talent and I hope to have the chance to work with you again when we get back home._

_So, Daisy's useful, huh? Frankly, whether the kid admits it now or not, I think Sweets is better off without her. Of your squinterns, I always liked Wendell the best. Probably because he was the most normal._

_Parker said to tell you he misses you and wishes you were there to look at his project for the science fair. I think your dad volunteered to help him since you're not around. That soda volcano thing they did that one time was pretty cool, though I thought Cam was going to have a shit fit about the clean up._

_I met a journalist from Kansas. She's tough as nails and she's quickly become one of the guys. Her name is Hannah Burley._

Brennan's hands shake as she reads the words, only a few of them sticking. _Hannah. Blonde. Pie. _

Her imagination kicks into overdrive. Instead of seeing herself in bed with Booth, she sees a faceless blonde. She can see the beads of sweat that catch the pale light in a shimmering sheen over the taut muscles of his body. Tears burn the backs of her eyelids as she discovers she can almost hear Hannah's name fall from Booth's lips as his climax begins to dawn.

Worse than that, she doesn't have to know what Hannah looks like to see her undulating in Booth's lap. Throwing a silky curtain of sandy hair over one shoulder as she leans down to fasten her mouth to his. The gentle motion of her breasts swaying as she begins to rock faster and faster.

_Oh, God. He wouldn't make love to her, would he? It wasn't the way it was between them. It couldn't be, right? He didn't know her well enough. It had to be just sex. A tawdry, little fuck to help him move on. Shit. Was he moving on?_

Just the thought is enough to bring her to her feet and send her into action. She quickly scurries to her tent, her feet moving so fast they barely touch the ground. She has to do something. Fear courses through her and she feels as though she's forgotten how to breathe. Panic washes over her, bathing her in a cold sweat.

Suddenly, she understands why he believes in monogamy. While monogamous relationships go against her anthropological beliefs, the woman in her cannot stand the thought of sharing him with someone else. She's never felt this way about a lover before. She has never wanted to possess something - _someone_ - the way she does now. Now she feels territorial. She wants to believe in everything he's told her. _Love. Two becoming one. Forever._

A letter wasn't going to cut it. _Not now. Not with this Hannah person in the picture._ Grabbing her carry-on, she begins to pack. Items are carelessly thrown into the bag. She rushes to locate a sat phone and begins placing calls. The first is to Paris.

"Angela? It's Brennan...No, everything is not okay. Booth met someone and...That's why I'm calling. Can you get Hodgins to send the jet?...I know it's a no-fly zone. I only need...Yes, I can get the coordinates...Thanks."

The next call will be tougher. She hates calling in favors.

"General Howard?...Dr. Temperance Brennan...I apologize for the time difference. My partner is currently stationed in Afghanistan and I...Yes, I am aware that it's a war zone...I will take full responsibility for my own personal safety...There must be _something_ that you need me to identify...I don't think I need to remind you that...No, sir, I am not threatening you...I thought you would see it my way...I'll get to that point on my own."

Within minutes, it's scheduled. She'll have to take a boat to the big island to meet the jet. That leaves her just enough time to wrap a few things up before she goes to him.

Something in her begins to twitch. Maybe this isn't a good idea. If he's happy, maybe she should just let him be happy. What was the expression...something about letting go?

She remembers the words she wrote in her letter to Booth. A letter he would be receiving very soon if he hadn't already. She thinks about advice he had given her years ago and smiles even as the tears begin to fall. _Take your brain and put it in neutral. Take the heart and pop it into overdrive. _

After five years, he ought to know that once she had made up her mind she didn't change it. She had stupidly pushed him away twice - once thinking it was for his own good and once without realizing that's what she was doing. She couldn't remain idle and watch as someone else laid claim to the happiness that was rightfully hers. She had to take back control or, at the very least, give control over to Booth and allow him to decide who he really wanted.

_Look out, Hannah Burley. Temperance Brennan is finally ready to claim her man._

* * *

He's sitting in the mess hall reading a graphic novel Hannah's nephew sent for him when Adams walks up. "Mail call, Sarge."

There is a sharp intake of air when Booth looks at the postmark staring at him from the upper left corner of the envelope. "Thanks, Adams."

He retreats to his quarters quickly. Sitting on the edge of his cot, he tears open the flap. He tugs out the folded pages and puts their holder aside. Taking a deep breath, he acknowledges that what he is about to read could, perhaps, be some of the most important words of his life.

_August 2, 2010_

_Booth,_

_I cannot imagine what you must be thinking and feeling having received my first letter. I did not realize the gravity of my words until I started talking about you with one of my colleagues. She asked me how long we had been together and I realized I didn't know if we _were_, in fact, together. It hit me like a ton of rocks. I have tormented myself thinking about it ever since. _

_Wondering how badly I've messed things up. Wondering if I was right, that you _do_ need to be protected from me. Wondering if you'll still want me after this._

_I believe I now know what you mean when you say 'heartbreaking', though I still believe that 'heart-crushing' is far more accurate a statement. I have been incredibly distracted and it feels as though there is a lump in my chest preventing me from breathing properly. Which I know, by the way, is completely irrational. _

_I've tried to write you so many times - both before and since my last letter - but the words just weren't there. Discarded paper has often littered the floor of my tent. Interesting that I can pen best selling novels but I cannot seem to write you a simple letter. Nothing about us has ever been easy..._

_Sometimes I will look at my watch and find I have been working for 18 or 20 hours. That, as you are well aware, is not uncommon for me. What is uncommon is that there is no one here to drag me to the diner or force me to go home. I miss sitting across from you and stealing your fries. While that is probably more of a function of my body requiring extra sodium to replenish what I have lost through sweat, something tells me it isn't true._

_I've been overwhelmed by feelings. Feelings about you. Feelings about us. It's not unpleasant. I cannot tell you that it's new because we agreed we would never lie to each other. The quandary I find myself in is that I have no idea how to act on or what to do about them._

_We've talked about our pasts. You know all of the demons that haunt me. Psychologically speaking, my intrinsic avoidance of relationships likely stems from my family's abandonment. I've been unable to surrender my independence and trust in someone else in my adult life for fear that they, too, would abandon me. That I would be left too broken to pick myself up._

_That's a big part of why I did not let myself grieve for you when I thought you were dead. You are such a presence - faith, love, an open heart. You're so many things I'm not. Things I was afraid I'd be giving up if it didn't work out between us. Things I want to learn for you. It impacted my decision after our talk with Sweets about his book. I'm scared of losing you, scared that letting myself be with you would completely destroy me if you ever left._

_Looking back, I realize that I have chosen men who served only to relieve biological urges because they filled a natural need and were, therefore, expendable. I was the one in control. Always. The very second something didn't go as I planned or wanted for it to be, I got out. You see, there is no need for sacrifice when you have nothing to lose. It could never be that way with you. With you there is everything to lose...but there is also a lifetime of things to be gained._

_I don't know how much, if anything, you remember about the novel I wrote and read to you last year while you were in the coma. At it's close I wrote something that I have discovered is very true -_

"_The thought of losing so much control over personal happiness is unbearable. That's the burden. Like wings, they have weight. We feel that weight on our backs but they are a burden that lifts us. A burden that allows us to fly."_

_You, Booth, you allow me to fly. You are unlike anyone else I have ever met. You have consistently been there for me and the thought of losing you as a friend, as everything you have come to mean to me, is terrifying. But, while I'm still not a gambler, I know that I need to take that risk. I need to trust myself enough to be with you. And I need to find some of your faith that this will work out._

_This is likely the confession I should have made outside the Hoover. Rather than pushing you away, I should have offered up my concerns. I should have given you a chance to assuage my fears the way you have countless other times. You know what I'm talking about - those bullshit guy hugs. Yes, I did actually pick up on that one but took pleasure in feeling your arms around me rather than calling you on it._

_Will we be able to get past the hurt I have caused you? Will we be able to get through this year of separation I have forced upon us?_

_I know I have a long way to go before I am able to voice my feelings to and for you. I'm afraid I am going to have to ask for your patience as we move through these untested waters. I trust you with my life...is trusting you with my metaphoric heart really that much different?_

'_Bones'_

_P.S. - I would give almost anything to awaken in your arms and discover that this year apart has all been a bad dream._

His jaw drops. His heart pounds against his ribcage. With trembling hands, he refolds the letter and slips it into his pocket.

He knows he has to tell her, knows he has some explaining to do. He finds her where he knows she'll be, remnants of pie on her plate and at the corner of her mouth, scribbling in her worn leather journal. "Hey, Hannah."

She looks up at him, her eyes dancing as a goofy grin spreads over her face. She lays her pen between the pages. "Hey, you. What's up?"

He sits down at the table, his face serious. "We need to talk..."


	8. The Trouble with Wings

**A/N - **I've put a little something in the middle that is sort of reminiscent of something done by one of my favorite authors - but she did it so much better and made several chapters of her story into these little "interludes". To the lovely jsq - thanks for letting me steal what was yours and defile it by shoving it in the middle rather than putting it on its own. I think/hope you'll see some of the other ways you've inspired me as we continue.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones.

Chapter Eight: The Trouble With Wings

Temperance Brennan is rational. A genius, she prides herself on having a steep learning curve. She sees no need to trust her gut or follow her heart.

She believes in facts because they can be touched, smelled, determined and configured. She doesn't believe in love because it is nothing more than a chemical imbalance in the brain, essentially the same reaction one gets from eating really good chocolate. Love is intangible, ephemeral. _Illusory. _ _Temporary_. _ It isn't real._

When she met Seeley Booth things began to change - not right away, but as sure as erosion, her defenses melted. It didn't happen overnight, mind you; it took time - _years_ - but she fell. She fell and now she's discovering that a woman in love will do crazy things - _like fly to a war-zone to make sure he knows._

She squeezes her eyes tightly shut. Her hands fist at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms. _What is she thinking? This is insane, irrational. It can't be real. _

But just then, as her heart beats a step quicker, a voice inside her - _a voice that sounds suspiciously like Angela_ - calls out to her. It says calmly, _almost_ rationally, "Go to him."

If she is anything, she's efficient. She made all the arrangements, packed and would be on the plane in less time than it takes most people to decide where to go. But, for once, her efficiency is a bad thing because it gives her time to think. And all she can think about is Booth. As she boards the boat for the main island, where she will be met by the Cantilever jet, her mind wanders.

* * *

They lay in bed, face-to-face, trying to catch their breath. He reaches for her and the combination of his charm smile and brown eyes sends a shock of warmth straight to her core. As his lips slide over hers she inches closer, closing the minimal gap between them.

She believes in facts and evidence. Things that she can see and touch. And she can see she isn't the only one who is aroused. The evidence of that is pressing against her thigh. Her tongue sneaks between his lips as her hands move - _touching him everywhere, especially there, right there_ - with wills of their own.

Her eyes roll back as he continues exploring every inch of her. The little moan that escapes her encouraging him on in his quest.

* * *

Though her thoughts are interrupted as she transfers from the dinghy to the airstrip, she can't escape the flush of arousal that has come over her - _and why would she want to?_ Remembering how she felt that night, how she feels when she's with him, lifts her. Somehow, it makes all of this seem a little less foolish.

"Dr. Brennan?" She's greeted by a middle-aged man in a pilot uniform. When she nods in response, he leads her to the plane. "We should arrive in about nine hours."

_Great. That much more time to think._

"Mrs. Hodgins requested a few items for you - some organic snacks and mineral water - and she said to tell you to try to relax." He shows her around the jet's interior and explains where things are located.

Under ordinary circumstances, she probably would have been impressed by the posh accommodations which far exceed her usual first class seat. But right now, she finds herself wanting for company and needing a diversion because doubt is creeping back in. _At this point even Daisy Wick would be a desirable companion._

* * *

At first all she sees are thighs. Muscular male legs beneath the unmistakeable curves of a woman's. She sees them meld together, sees their hips undulating, their bodies moving with each other, going into each other, hears her moan "Seeley."

"_Seeley" not "Booth." _Only then does she notice the blonde hair.

Later, he sits across a table from the same blonde at the Royale Diner. He's smiling broadly at her and holding a forkful of pie in front of her pouty lips.

She takes it with a little moan and he lights up as he watches her face. Her blue eyes go wide. "Oh!" she exclaims.

His smile fades. "You okay?"

She reaches for him and pulls his hand until it rests on her swollen belly. She smiles up at him as she watches him feel his child moving within her.

The grin is back and he leans down to give her a deep kiss. A kiss that makes her moan his name all over again.

* * *

She tries desperately - and unsuccessfully - to shake the images from her head. The diner is supposed to be _theirs_. He's supposed to use pie to seduce _her_, not someone else_. _ She's confused. She can't understand why her brain keeps running this scenario.

Hurt runs in a deep canyon through her chest. A single tear slides over her cheek and she absently brushes it away. _It won't happen. It can't._

She moves to sit on the floor. Crossing her legs, she rests her wrists on her knees. Her palms open and facing the ceiling of the cabin, she sits in _Siddhasana_, or Sage Pose, and begins her deep breathing exercises.

_Thank you, Yoga. For calm. For strength. And for flexibility..._

* * *

She laces one of her legs around his, drawing his body close. Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, she raises up on her other elbow. She smiles wickedly as she catches him off guard and forces him down into the mattress in a tangle of limbs and sheets. _She'll show him how quickly she learns._

His eyes flash darkly beneath heavy lids and his breath catches. He's stuck there for a moment, eyes opening wide in surprise as she impales herself upon him.

She leans forward to kiss him, her tongue teasing at his lips. She's moving. He sits up slightly, his big hands grabbing her hips and slowing her to a complete halt. His tongue brushes hers as he cradles her.

She can't remember ever being held in this intimate an embrace. She momentarily stops fighting him for control and just feels. He seizes the opportunity and flips her beneath him with a powerful thrust.

It's her turn to be breathless and for a heartbeat, they just stare. Each laughs at the others need to be in control. Then they laugh together. They laugh for the sheer joy of this moment. The laughter only stops when their mouths come in contact.

Rather than fighting for control, they learn to share it. Mirrored movements, shared thrusts, equal control. _Partners in every way._

It's sweaty and it leaves both of them slick and the sheets twisted, damp and pulled completely free from the bottom of the bed. But as her head falls to his chest and his hand slips tenderly into the silk-spun curls splayed there, neither could care. All that mattered was being close. Being close and sharing a few precious hours of sleep wrapped in each others arms before parting.

* * *

There is a certain madness that comes with being in love. Because love is irrational. It's messy and it's complicated, glorious and terrifying. One minute, you're soaring, safe and secure, the one that you care about the wings that lift you. The next, you find yourself spiraling, falling _- down, down, down_ - until you're lying broken on the pavement.

The fear of losing the tender ache you feel when his arms wrap around you? Of losing the feel of her lips beneath yours? Of never again being with _the_ one? That fear drives us, inspires us, exhilarates and terrifies us. It can make the sanest and most rational person do the unexpected.

The trouble with being in love, the burden of bearing the wings of happiness upon your back, is learning to take flight. It's about closing your eyes and taking that last step. It's about trusting the person on the other end to catch you and lift you up no matter what. And, beyond any doubt, it's about risking that they won't.

That's why they call it _falling_...

* * *

Seeley Booth is a romantic. He trusts his gut and follows his heart. He believes in fate and finding the kind of love that will last a lifetime. _Okay, so maybe not an entire lifetime but at least thirty years. Or forty. Or fifty_.

He's been in love before. At least he thinks he has. But nothing compares to the way he feels right now. It's everything he hoped for and nothing like what he expected. Or _who_ he expected it to be with for that matter.

As a Catholic, he knows all about self discipline and faith. Take Lent - you give up something that you love to gain a higher understanding; it's an act of depriving yourself and renewing your faith. Religion - belief in a higher power and following its catechisms - has taught him a good deal about the kind of man he wants to be. The kind of man he strives to be.

But this - being in love with _her_ - it's not the controlled, gentle coupling he's always thought it would be. It's passionate and complex, while at the same time simple, playful even. It's built on a firm foundation of friendship and mutual devotion.

He closes his eyes, the familiar warmth he gets thinking about her - her smile, her eyes, the feel of her soft hair wrapped around his rough hands as he draws her in. He starts to drift out of consciousness with a goofy grin, comforted by thoughts of her, knowing that she's close by even when she isn't there.

* * *

Even in the dim light the glow of her bare skin is intoxicating. Like moth to flame, he is drawn back to her, unable to resist her heat. Having her once would never - _could never_ - be enough.

His hand rests on the curve of her hip. He strokes upwards in a feather-light caress, his touch drawing goosebumps and arousing her all over again.

"Don't start something you aren't willing to finish," she says with a wicked grin - _as if that face could ever be wicked_. Her eyes betray that her need - for _this_ - matches his own.

Taking her words as encouragement, his fingers tangle into her hair and he rolls over her. "Never," he promises as he lays a line of tiny kisses over her jaw. She whimpers.

He takes her slowly. He knows it drives her deliciously mad, but he wants to savor everything tonight. Every touch. Every sound. Every little thing about her from the way she feels wrapped around him to the way his name falls from her panting lips to how her eyes roll back in ecstasy.

* * *

He awakens damp with perspiration as he relives the night they shared. A brief flicker of a smile crosses his face, but it doesn't stay. Panic sets in.

For every action there are consequences. Consequences that have to be dealt with. He isn't the one who is owed forgiveness. He knew precisely what he was getting into and doesn't expect her to apologize. He's the one that needs to do that. He's the one that caused the hurt. And no amount of prayer or penance can get him out of the mess of his own making.

And that's the trouble with being a control freak and having wings. You have to take that last step even knowing that you could be left hurt and broken. You have to be able to spread those wings and learn to let go - _to dare flying but risk falling_ - in the hope of getting what you want.


	9. The Truth in the Relationship

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones.

Chapter Nine: The Truth in the Relationship

Brennan gets into the vehicle waiting to carry her on the final leg of her journey. She considers the night that set them on this course. Not the night he instructed her in breaking the laws of physics. The night outside the Hoover. The night she rejected him and he told her he needed to move on.

The tears, his as much as her own, were a vivid memory. There were only a handful of times she had seen him cry and it wasn't an activity she enjoyed. She had replayed the conversation again and again in her head. That was the problem with being a genius: you remembered things that others quickly forgot.

"_I'm the gambler. I believe in giving this a chance. Look, I wanna give this a shot."_

"_You mean us? No. The FBI won't let us work together as a couple."_

"_Don't do that. That's no reason..." _

_The kiss had been bittersweet and filled with longing._

"_No. No!"_

"_Why? Why?"_

"_You thought you were protecting me, but you're the one that needs protecting."_

"_Protecting from what?"_

"_From me. I don't have your kind of open heart."_

"_Just give it a chance. That's all I'm asking."_

"_Don't.. You said it yourself. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome."_

"_Let's go for a different outcome then. Hear me out. You know when you talk to older couples who've been in love for thirty or forty or fifty years? It's always the guy who says 'I knew.' I knew. Right from the beginning."_

"_Your evidence is anecdotal."_

"_I'm that guy. Bones, I'm that guy. I know."_

"_I..I'm not a gambler. I'm a scientist. I can't change. I don't know how. I don't know how. Please don't look so sad."_

"_All right. Okay. You're right. You're right."_

"_Can we still work together?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Thank you."_

"_But I gotta move on. I gotta find someone who's gonna love me in thirty years. Or forty. Or fifty."_

"_I know."_

That had been it. She had chosen to put work first - _like always_. Work wouldn't - couldn't - abandon her. First she chose to work with him rather than attempt a relationship, then she chose to put her career aspirations ahead of their partnership by going to Maluku.

She had done to him what she was afraid he would do to her - she had abandoned him. She had abandoned him and now she had to face the possibility that he had gotten tired of waiting for her - _that he'd moved on_.

* * *

He smiles to himself. _It's always darkest before the dawn_. There's a reason certain phrases are cliche - because they're true. Never had the expression held more meaning than it did when fingers of sunlight reached into this morning's sky.

He spent a good deal of the evening beating himself up. _Catholic guilt. Good times._ But then her words had really - _finally _ - sunk in. In reality, it shouldn't have taken _that_ long but even the best investigator was entitled to an off day.

He sighs. She loves him. She hasn't admitted it - _yet_ - but she loves him. She loves him and he feels he could fly.

Sure, it won't be easy. But they'll make it work. They have to. Failing at this - failing to give her his all - wasn't an option. _ Loving each other was half the battle, right? _ If he closes his eyes, he can see them five years from now pushing a stroller in the park and having a picnic with Parker.

_Parker. His kid would be over the moon! He'd only been saying his dad needed a girlfriend for how long?_

Ten years from now attending a parent teacher conference for a little girl with her eyes and his smile. Twenty five years, a college graduation and a silver wedding anniversary. Thirty years, a grandchild. Forty years, a house full of family. And fifty years. Fifty years, a golden anniversary party where he tells everyone how he loves her a little more every day.

But that's putting the cart before the horse. And he knows it. They haven't talked about it, not in the context of their relationship, and he's not sure how she'll react. But it doesn't hurt to want things. To dream big dreams with his lion heart.

"I swear, Seeley," she says shoving him playfully from her position next to him in the sand. "Your head is so far in the clouds its a wonder you don't have a nose bleed."

He laughs. _Hannah's always good for a laugh._ For a while they just sit together in silence. When you have the kind of relationship they share, words aren't really necessary. Sometimes it's okay just to be.

* * *

_Moving on_. She takes a deep breath._ Moving on._ Would that guy - the one who _knew_ - really be able to move on?

She doesn't know about love, but she knows a lot about Booth. Booth believes in fate. She _still_ believes fate to be a ludicrous concept. He has faith. The only thing she has faith in is him.

_Booth_. He wanted to protect her but she said he needed protecting. _Protection from what? From her? From the one thing she knows nothing about? _ Maybe he was right all along. She's the one who needs protection. From unquantifiables and uncertainty as much as from gunmen and explosions. From love _- or more properly, from a life without it._

* * *

Booth and Hannah walk back to camp. "So, what are your plans for life when we get out of this hell hole?"

She thinks about it for a moment and sighs. "You're on a fixed time table - you know when you're getting out. As for me, who knows?"

"But you will be going home eventually," he proffers.

She sighs and looks up at him with her sparkling green eyes. "I know I'm tired of waking up alone," she says softly. "I just don't know if I'll ever be able to settle down."

He gives her a little half smile. _If there's one thing he's learned about this woman, it's that she's an adventurer. A nomad._ "So, no kids then?"

"I'm not saying that at all. Someday, maybe. You know, down the road."

He nods. Hannah is a free spirit. He knows she enjoys her nieces and nephews, but he also knows she isn't good at being still. There is a presence and warmth about her that would make her a great mother, if that was what she wanted.

"They expecting someone?" she asks quizzically, her brow furrowing as she squints at the approaching vehicle.

"Not that I'm aware of," he tells her as they continue walking.

The trip on foot takes longer than it does for the Jeep to reach camp. When he sees her get out, he freezes for an instant. _She can't be here. _But she is. "Bones?"

Before she can respond, he's inches away. He pulls her hard and fast against his chest. His lips slide over hers, tongue brushing reverently as a hand slips into her hair. He expects her to melt into him like ice cream on warm pie, but instead she goes rigid and remains still. He draws away slightly and moves his lips to the shell of her ear. He's afraid to look into her eyes. Afraid to breathe. "Baby, why won't you kiss me back?" he mumbles softly into her hair.

Hannah laughs loudly, "I told you she'd show up."

Booth looks from the blonde to the auburn beauty in his arms. Brennan's features are awash with hurt and confusion as her blue eyes meet Hannah's green ones for the first time. She looks around and then up at Booth.

He sees the faces of the other soldiers and realizes that this is neither the time nor the place to have the discussion that needs to be had. In a rare moment of vulnerability, his steadfast control had faltered and he had succumb to his need for her.

Hannah crooks her neck in the direction of Booth's quarters. "Let's get out of here."

Booth wraps his arm around Brennan's shoulders needing to hold her close. She doesn't resist, but her movements are apprehensive. She looks tired. It's bone-deep and too severe to be from the travel alone. She's almost fragile.

Once they are away from prying eyes, Hannah attempts to introduce herself. "I'm Hannah Burley. Booth's told me a lot about you. Well, not too much because he says what's between you is yours, but enough that I feel like I know you."

Booth can see Brennan's walls going up. "Baby, this isn't..."

"Don't call me baby, Booth," she replies. She feels silly, childish even. His use of the endearment only re-enforces that fact.

"Okay," he says elongating the word more than necessary.

"Booth, we really need to talk and I don't think it's appropriate for Hannah to be here..." she begins as she moves to sit on the edge of the cot.

"Bones, there's something..." he starts to tell her the truth, but Brennan starts talking over him.

"Have you moved on then? I'm too late?" she hangs her head and attempts to brush tears from her eyes without either of the other two noticing. In a tone that she thinks is to herself, she mutters softly, "How could I have been so stupid?"

Hannah exits the tent as the two talk intently, intensely. She is five feet six inches of tension as the man she never thought she'd meet - one who accepted her for who she was and never asked more than she could give - opens his heart. She had been in-country for eight months, long enough to learn that there is something about a war zone that brings out the extremes in people's personalities. Booth, however, was his own extreme to start with: a combination of class clown and white knight. In such a short time she felt so bonded to him, wished him only happiness, hoped that he would find it, hoped that she could still be a small part of it.

And that's when she heard the laughter. Easy laughter - not born of strain or sarcasm but of clear joy, running like a mountain stream over the parched Afghani landscape - as Booth chuckles like the cut-up she knows he is. "Hannah, get in here!"

As she enters the tent, Brennan launches to her feet, her hands balling into fists at her sides. "This isn't funny!"

Booth grins and laughs out loud again. "Actually, Bones, its way funny. Funnier than you can possibly imagine."

Brennan is almost in Hannah's face. "How is losing the man you love to another woman funny?"

Booth grins, his chiseled features glowing. He was right. She _does_ love him.

Hannah shoots Booth a dirty look. "Seeley, wipe that shit eating grin off your face before I knock it off for you. She's been through enough," she says with a pained expression. She turns to Brennan and places a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "You haven't lost him."

Though still grinning, Booth finally gets himself under control. "Hannah and I are just friends, Bones."

Brennan's eyes turn to meet Booth's and she falters as she tries to conjure up the words he wrote to her. _It doesn't make sense_. Her brow furrows. "But, your letter..."

He laughs at her and pulls her into a warm embrace. "Do you seriously think that I would tell you if I was interested in another woman? No guy in his right mind would do that."

Hannah makes eye contact. "Besides that, Seeley here isn't really my type."

"He's not?" Brennan asks, breaking free of Booth's arms. "Why? He's the perfect male specimen. The breadth of his shoulders and strength of his jaw are extremely appealing..."

"Geez, Bones, I thought you were a vegetarian and you're describing me like I'm a piece of meat." He looks into her eyes. He'd rather bicker with her than make love to - _with_ - anyone else. _They're back, baby!_ It's almost like Hannah is no longer in the room. "Do you want me or are you trying to give me away?"

Hannah laughs again. "She is _exactly_ like you said she would be," she says softly. She honestly thought he'd been kidding when he said she took everything literally and at face value. "I'm actually seeing someone."

"Just because you have a mate doesn't mean..."

Hannah laughs. She can see why Booth has described this woman as the singly most lovable and infuriating person on the face of the Earth. Brennan had to be right and get the last word. _Well, that wasn't going to happen this time._ With a soft smile, she makes her confession, "Her name is Sarah."


	10. When Seeley Met Hannah

**A/N - **This chapter will show there's often more than meets the eye. It was fun (though challenging) to write and I hope it will answer some of your questions.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones.

Chapter Ten: When Seeley Met Hannah

"Sarah." Brennan repeats.

"Sarah. We've been together for three and a half years," Hannah answers.

"So, you're..." she starts.

Hannah cuts her off. "A lesbian," she says, nodding matter-of-factly. Booth has told her enough to know that Brennan likes her facts straight up, no chaser. The sooner they get to the bottom of this the easier his life is going to be. "I met Booth..."

"It was the night I got your first letter." His hands rest on the back of the chair at his desk as he observes how the two women react to each other. Hannah is an open book - _like always -_ and he can tell she wants to help him fix his mess. Brennan, on the other hand, is closed off. "I was pretty upset..."

* * *

"That was an unhappy noise," she says with a small laugh. "You okay there, big guy?"

The sniper spins around, chastising himself - _being unaware of your surroundings equals death in a place like this _ - and looks for the first time into her green eyes and gentle smiling face.

"Name's Hannah. Hannah Burley." She senses his hesitancy. "Relax, soldier, I don't bite."

It's late. He's not really in the mood to talk to anyone, but there's no way to escape her. Heaving a sigh, he accepts her hand. "Booth. Seeley Booth."

"Had I known this was a James Bond movie, I'd have worn my catsuit." She chuckles and he can't help but smile. "You wanna talk about whatever's bothering you? I'll even promise to keep it off the record."

For the first time he sees the notepad in her hand and the press tag around her neck. "Great, a reporter. Probably the only thing worse than a shrink..."

She shakes her head, her eyes sparkle and the corner of her mouth twitches upward. "I resent that. I'm not a reporter. I'm a journalist."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

She rolls her eyes. She's not going to debate the difference now. "Let's talk about what's bothering you," she presses.

He takes a deep breath and attempts to force a smile. "It's nothing. Really."

She has three younger brothers. _ There's no way this is nothing._ "Come on. Lay it on me. Your clenched jaw says this is far from nothing. Stewing about it isn't gonna help."

_Maybe she's right_, he finds himself thinking. "Fine. I'm in love with the most frustrating woman on the face of the planet."

"Really?" she says with a smile. "Me, too."

* * *

Hannah picks up where he leaves off. "Booth didn't want to say too much because, and I quote, 'what's between us is ours.' But he told me about your letter and how it hurt him."

"And Hannah told me about how she followed Sarah into a combat zone," Booth sighs. "We commiserated about loving strong women over terrible pie. It's been quite a role reversal for me - she's dragged me to lunch and pushed me to rest."

"We'd eat together and talk about home. You, Parker and Sarah were always at the top of the list."

* * *

She's stargazing when he approaches her. "Nothing, huh?" she asks when she sees his expression.

Booth's shoulders slump and he shakes his. "I miss her, you know?" he says as he sinks into the sand beside her. His arms come to rest on bent knees.

She leans back in the sand and looks up into the sky. "I know," she replies with a sad smile and a soft sigh. "You wanna talk about it?" She keeps asking the question even though she already knows the answer is 'no'.

"It's insane. I keep expecting that things are just going to work out for us. That the light bulb is going to flicker on and we'll be okay," he rants.

_This is new. Usually he's not this open._ "You said it yourself. She's just not that way." He's a good man and, from what she can tell, a great friend. He's starting to struggle with his situation more now than the night she met him. She has to take the risk even with the chance that he'll take it the wrong way. "Look, you love her, right? That's all that matters. The rest? It's just details."

His jaw tightens. "She doesn't know," he says so softly that she almost misses it.

"What do you mean she doesn't know?" she asks.

"She doesn't know because I didn't tell her. Not in words anyway. I should have, okay? I know." He kicks at the sand. "I was scared she would run. Hell, she was already running."

Hannah sighs. "I've always known I was different. Sarah had a hard time coming to grips with being in love with a woman instead of a man." _It's something she's never told anyone. Something she hopes will reach him because she doesn't want him to give up._ "The thing about being in love, is knowing how to hang on to hope. It's rough, believe me I know. I look at you and I see the same look I wore almost three years ago."

He lets out along breath. "I've been hanging on to hope for the better part of five years."

"So what's one more then?" she asks seriously. "Jesus, Seeley, you've had the patience of a saint and _now_ you're thinking about giving up?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "At least then I got to see her..."

She grins even as she rolls her eyes and shakes her head at him. "You really just don't get it." _Men could be so dense_. "Sarah once told me that she ran away because she had nothing to run toward. The reasons behind their flight reflexes are very different, but I think you'll find that it applies to Temperance as well."

He doesn't respond. Rather, he just stares at her blankly as he replays the words over again in his head.

"What I'm trying to say, if you can wrap your thick head around it, is that it sounds like she's been running to you for quite some time. Give her room to breathe and I think you'll find that instead of running _away_ she's running _to_ you."

They sit in silence for a while as he digests her words. It's nice to finally be able to get some of this off his chest. A long time ago he realized that most of _his_ friends were really _their _friends. It was impossible to talk to anyone about it without worrying it would get back to her. Sure, there was Cam but it was hard to talk to your ex about the person you were interested in no matter how good of friends you were.

Finally, he's ready to move forward. To change the subject and hopefully lighten their evening a bit. He leans into the sand and rests his chin on his palm. He gives her a meaningful look. "So, I've been meaning to ask you," he begins as they lay next to each other.

"What's that?" she hums as she turns to face him, using her arm for a pillow.

"Did you drop any houses on wicked witches before you left Kansas?"

She slugs him in the arm, "You did not just go there!"

"Yeah, I did." He smirks. "Dorothy."

She bare faces it. Because that's what she does. Her expression straight as can be, she looks him dead in the eye. "I did have an Aunt Emily though. Sometimes we called her Auntie Em."

He laughs so hard his sides hurt. He hasn't laughed that hard in a long time - if ever. It's nice to _finally_ spend time with a woman who understands pop culture references.

* * *

"And it was a few days later that I sent my letter." Booth sighs. "I thought that hurting you would make me feel better."

"Even though I warned him against it," Hannah states. Seeing the look on Brennan's face she clarifies, "It wasn't like he let me read it or anything. Seeley just told me that he wrote to you about our friendship. He had told me how literal you were and I told him that I didn't think you would take it the right way."

Booth runs a hand through his hair. "I didn't feel right telling her about your orientation."

"For what it's worth, he really beat himself up over it," Hannah says to Brennan. "Seeley here takes Catholic guilt to the extreme."

Booth chuckles unconvincingly. "Yeah. And things got worse when I got your second letter two days ago. I found Hannah in the mess hall and told her about how the letters had crossed in the mail. I was about ready to go AWOL to get it worked out..."

* * *

He knows he has to tell her, knows he has some explaining to do. He finds her where he knows she'll be, remnants of pie on her plate and at the corner of her mouth, scribbling in her worn leather journal. "Hey, Hannah."

She looks up at him, her eyes dancing as a goofy grin spreads over her face. She lays her pen between the pages. "Hey, you. What's up?"

He sits down at the table, his face serious. "We need to talk..."

He doesn't even have to say it. She _knows_ he's talking about the letter. "Tell me you didn't send it," she says as her smile begins to fade. She hadn't read it, but he had told her about it. Told her that he mentioned meeting a new friend. She'd warned him that it was stupid and to wait. To stick with his plan of letting _her_ come to _him_.

He takes a deep breath. "Yeah, I did." Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the letter he just finished reading and taps it against his hand. "For what it's worth, you were right."

"Oh, God, Seeley," she says as her head falls forward with a gentle shake. "You got what you wanted but the letters crossed in the mail."

Booth scrubs his hand over his jaw. "Looks that way," he says, irritation - with himself and the situation - flooding his words even as pain clouded his eyes.

Hannah takes a moment to consider the ramifications of his actions. "You didn't tell her about Sarah."

He shakes his head, "Wasn't my story to tell."

From what he's told her about his 'Bones', the woman was very literal and would take this as him saying he had moved on. The irony was that Booth was incapable of moving on after what had transpired between them, not that he had shared the details. "You're an idiot," she said as she scratches her forehead.

"Thanks," he replies. _As if he wasn't beating himself up enough already. _"What am I going to do?"

"Didn't you say once that when she made up her mind about something that was it? That it was a done deal, game over kind of thing?" she asks him.

Booth thinks for a moment, "Yeah, that's Bones alright. Did I tell you about the time she made herself a suspect in a murder investigation to get the heat off her Dad?"

"Seeley..." she tries to interject. _Cute stories later, problem solving now. _

"That was priceless. And to think she says she doesn't have an open heart..." he continues to ramble on.

"Focus, Seeley. This is serious. When did you mail your letter?"

"About a week ago."

"So she's gotten it by now."

"Shit," they say in unison.

"I'm willing to lay money on her showing up here," Hannah says quietly as she leans toward him, resting her elbows on the table.

"We're in a war zone. In Afghanistan." He reminds her.

"Uh-huh," she replies. "And she's a best selling author and world-renowned forensic anthropologist. If I can find a way in as a reporter, she surely has connections to do the same thing."

"Bones would never..." he says skeptically.

"You're kidding right? The woman who got your brother to help hijack a Coast Guard helicopter to rescue you isn't going to come after you now that's she's made up her mind? The woman who showed up at your place hours before you were due on base?" she laughes. "Sure, Seeley. Go on and keep deluding yourself and thinking you aren't worth it."

* * *

"You are, you know? Worth it I mean," Hannah says as she finishes up.

Brennan's eyes shimmer with emotion as she looks back and forth between them. She's torn. She feels stupid for thinking he could feel the way he felt and truly be able to move on. But there is also a deep sadness at the thought that he believed she wouldn't fight for him the way he'd quietly fought for her for years. "Booth..." she says in a voice that is at once a whisper and a sob.

Hannah watches as the steadfast soldier whose friendship she has come to cherish envelops the woman he loves in a warm embrace. She smiles softly as his hand entwines in Brennan's hair and he pulls the anthropologist against his chest. As they become lost in one another, she quietly slips from the tent. _There will be plenty of time for more talk later._

Booth leans down and, using the hand in her hair, angles Brennan's mouth until his lips seal over hers in a heated kiss. It's firm and tender, his free hand slipping under the edge of her t-shirt to rest on the warm skin of the small of her back. She responds instantly to his touch, her hand stealing up the hard wall of his chest and sliding over the short fuzz on the back of his neck.

He relishes in the little gasp that escapes her parted lips as he takes them over and over again. His hands are roaming further up the curves of her body relearning the heat of her flesh when a voice calls him back to reality.

_Damn it. Not now. _But this isn't a fantasy. They aren't in his apartment. They're in the desert.

"Hey, Sarge?" He goes still as he recognizes the voice. It's Murphy, the general's flunky.

"Yeah, Murph?" Booth replies, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to numb his arousal.

"General Davis is looking for Dr. Brennan," he responds from outside.

Brennan stretches up and plucks Booth's lips one last time before joining the young man standing outside of Booth's quarters. "I'll explain later," she calls out as she is lead away.

Booth stands slack jawed wondering what she had to promise - or who she had to blackmail - to get here. But then he realizes none of that matters. She's here. That's the important thing.


	11. The Soldier in the Sand

**A/N - **I'm _incredibly_ nervous about this. It's my first ever attempt at setting up a case. I spent a good deal of time researching, but I am not a law enforcement professional and I don't have a forensics background. Please forgive any errors and alert me via PM or review if there is something glaring you think I should fix in this or any of the other chapters in this part of the story arc.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. Which, if I have not already made clear, should be glaringly obvious after this chapter**.**

Chapter Eleven: The Soldier in the Sand

Murphy enters the General's office with the rigid posture expected of a young soldier greeting his superior. He snaps a salute.

With a flick of his wrist the General scowls, "At ease, Murphy."

Temperance Brennan observes their exchange: while she isn't as astute as Booth when it comes to reading body language, she knows this favor is going to cost her.

"Dr. Brennan, as you requested, Sir." Though his stance relaxes slightly, Murphy remains tense.

The General gestures for Brennan to enter and points to the chair across from his desk. "That will be all, Murphy. Dismissed." The young man gives a quick salute and closes the door behind him.

_She is not a dog or a soldier under his command. _ She doesn't take the seat she's been offered, instead she stands behind it with crossed arms. "I apologize, General, if it was your expectation that I report to you immediately. I trust that my contacts at the State Department..."

He holds up a hand to halt her speech. _This won't be like working with a man._ "It appears we've gotten off on the wrong foot, Dr. Brennan," he says softly. Seeing she feels threatened, he decides to go with a less formal approach. "Am I correct in assuming that your contacts did not tell you what we need from you?"

Brennan does not relax. _This isn't going to be good._ "Your assumption is correct. I was not properly informed of my role, just that there was a situation that required someone of my expertise in an area that I requested access to."

Davis rubs his brow. _She's every bit as difficult as they'd warned. And, obviously, they can't use Booth as a liason. _"Unfortunately, you may not be the best person to deal with this matter in light of your relationship with Sergeant Major Booth. I'm afraid we did not have all the facts before the State Department offered your assistance."

Her brow furrows. "I don't know what that means," she tells him. "Are you saying that Booth is a suspect?"

He exhales deeply and draws in another breath unsure of how to respond. "Dr. Brennan..."

She stands her ground. "Booth is a good man. He's been my partner for over 5 years. He has a great respect for human life. He has only taken lives when ordered or forced to do so." _The thought was inconceivable._ "He wouldn't. He couldn't..."

He closes his eyes tightly and blinks several times while his hand alternately rubs and squeezes the bridge of his nose. "We believe the Sergeant Major may be an accomplice." He looks at her, trying to gage her reaction to the bomb he's just dropped. Reaching into the top drawer of his desk, he pulls out a manilla envelope and hands it to her along with a pair of gloves. "We found this with the body," he says.

She quickly dons the gloves and tilts the contents into her hand. It's a photograph. The faces of two women smile back at her, their arms tucked around each other in a loving embrace. One has dark hair and wears camouflage. The other is blonde with green eyes. Even though she'd only seen her for twenty minutes, the blonde is instantly recognizable: Hannah Burley. With wide eyes, she says "Hannah?"

"Yes. Hannah Burley is the prime suspect. We believe the deceased is her lover, Captain Sarah Peters," his tone is flat, emotionless. "Turn it over."

_A picture from hot day that turned into an even hotter night. All my love, Hannah -_ she reads. Judging from the way they were behaving less than an hour ago, Brennan would never have guessed that something had happened. "They don't know, do they?" she asks quietly in a voice sounding entirely unlike her own. _Booth would be devastated for his friend. And Hannah. Could she possibly have done this and still talked so joyously about the woman she loved?_

All business, the General continues. "The MPs have done some rudimentary ground work in preparation for your arrival. The discovery was made a couple of hours before your request to the State Department."

"I can assure you that I am quite capable of being objective. I hardly know Ms. Burley."

"But you are very close to Sergeant Major Booth, perhaps too close," he proffers.

Unswayed, and offended, Brennan snaps "Please escort me to the remains so that I may get started. I would like to attempt to get to the bottom of this before you further insult my partner." She doesn't wait for an answer. She walks to the door and giving him a pointed look finishes "I will also need an internet hook up so that I can confer with my team from the Jeffersonian as necessary."

He nods and rounds the desk. "And I must insist that you not speak with Booth or the Burley woman until they are cleared."

She doesn't like it, and she knows that Booth won't like it either, but she knows better than to refuse. "I understand," she says, trying to keep the tears pricking the backs of her lids from falling. _Being on the opposite side, not being able to talk to her partner - her Booth - was going to make this very difficult._

"Bones," he says the second she steps out of the door.

Her eyes speak volumes. _I'm sorry_, she mouths silently. She can't look at him. If she does, she knows she'll break. She slips past him even as the General stops. Casting a glance over her shoulder as she waits, her heart is crushed when she sees his face. She watches, wishing more than anything that she could embrace him - that she could offer him comfort the way he has so often done for her. _Obviously, he's now hearing the news._

Booth's hands fall to his knees as he bends over, all the breath leaving his lungs. _Hannah. Suspect. Accomplice. Don't talk to Dr. Brennan._

* * *

He walks into the mess hall and grabs her wrist. "We need to talk. _Now_."

Confusion bleeds over her delicate features and her eyes search his in confusion. "Easy there, big guy. What's wrong?"

"Not here," he says. "Meet me at my quarters in 10."

Her lips twitch. "And here I was thinking you were a regular lady killer," she teases. "Shouldn't you be romancing that gorgeous partner of yours rather than here asking me for advice?"

Booth frowns at her. "Really _not_ funny, Hannah."

She sees that the tension in him is rising, that he can barely contain it. _This is serious. _"Okay, I got it. Your quarters. Ten minutes." She watches him stalk away as she grabs her gear.

* * *

Brennan carefully examines the corpse on the table in front of her. In her coldest, most professorial tone she states, "I sincerely hope that your people did not compromise the remains when they brought them here."

The General crosses his arms. "My people are trained by..."

"Not me. They're not trained by me or anyone I trust. Now, the video link I requested?"

He points to a cable in the corner. "The other equipment you requested is being gathered or flown in from other locations."

"Thank you," she says curtly. She waits for him to leave before setting up her links. Paris is two and a half hours behind, making it 10 AM. _That's acceptable._ The communications request box pops up on the screen and she waits. _Come on, Angela._

"Sweetie? What's up?" her friend asks softly.

"I'm sorry to be bothering you and Hodgins on your honeymoon again, Ange," she says quietly. Her eyes shift around the room. "Booth's in trouble and I need your help."

"What do you mean he's in trouble, Bren? How did the whole Hannah thing..." Angela asks. _She doesn't like the look on Brennan's face._

Brennan cuts her off. "Not now, Angela," she says sternly. The sadness in her eyes quickly shuts the artist down.

Angela disappears from the screen for a moment and comes back with her husband in tow. Hodgins curly head pops into view. "What have we got, Dr. B.?" he asks.

Brennan angles the camera toward the examination table so that they can see the remains.

"A mummy? Awesome." Hodgins exclaims.

"Not awesome," Angela tells him with a slight scowl. "Booth's in trouble."

"Okay. That's bad." he says. His brow furrows, "What could a mummy possibly have to do with Booth?"

Brennan's concern is apparent. "This mummy is not of the Egyptian variety," she says. Her attempt to keep her voice clinical fails miserably. "The victim was buried in the sand which has absorbed the bodily fluids and desiccated the remains. The victim is female, approximately 30-35 years of age." She tilts the camera and opens the mouth. "Judging from the dental care, I'd say she's American."

"I still don't understand how this has anything to do with Booth," Angela says. "Why isn't he there with you, anyway? Did something happen with Hannah?"

Brennan sighs and attempts to maintain her composure. "Booth and Hannah are just friends," she begins. "It would appear that Booth is not Hannah's type."

"Shut up!" Angela's mouth drops open. "Tell me you did not buy that line. I am going to kick Booth's ass. Agent Studly is _every_ woman's type."

"Angela," Brennan breathes. "Hannah is a lesbian. The Army believes that the victim is her long-term girlfriend."

"Wow," her friend says. "I didn't see _that_ coming."

Hodgins smiles. "Coming from the woman who was with Roxy shortly after we broke up," he teases.

Angela kisses her husband. "But I ended up with you, didn't I?"

Brennan clears her throat. "Can the two of you please focus?"

"Sorry, Bren," she answers. "So how does Booth factor into all of this?"

Brennan looks defeated. "Hannah is the primary suspect," she answers. "And because of his friendship with her, they think Booth may be involved."

* * *

"Where's Temperance?" Hannah asks as she enters the tent. "Things appeared to be going well when I left."

Booth rubs the back of his neck. "They were...right up until Murphy showed up."

"Why do I know that name?" she asks.

"He's the General's assistant."

"Oh, yeah," she says with a snap of her fingers. "That's right! The tall kid from Missouri. What happened?"

Booth begins to pace. "Well, I went to the General's office. I wanted to see what the plan was. Where Bones is staying, that kind of thing." He stops in his tracks and looks at her. "When was the last time you talked to Sarah?"

She thinks about it for a minute. "I guess it's been a while, but that's not really unusual given how frequently our assignments change," she says, adding, "She was here for a while about three months or so ago, but she was given orders for a medical transport chopper. Spends a lot of time flying back and forth to Germany."

Booth rests his hands on her shoulders. "You need to think about it. It's important."

"Seeley, you're scaring me..." Fear crosses her features and reaches into her eyes.

"Good," he says, his tone more callous than he means for it to be. "You _should_ be scared."

"I don't understand," she says as she sinks to the edge of his cot. "What's going on?"

"Bones was brought in to identify a body," he tells her. _There's no easy way to put it, so why bother trying?_ "They think it's Sarah...and we're the prime suspects."


	12. Timing is Everything

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones.

Chapter Twelve: Timing is Everything

Rolling her eyes, Hannah shakes her head. "Okay, Booth," she says flipping a length of strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder. With a raised eyebrow she mocks him. "Cut it out. That really isn't funny."

He just stares at her. _Did she _ever_ take anything seriously? _"No," he agrees with wide eyes, his tone becoming grave. "It's not funny at all."

"Shut up," she retorts forcefully.

"This is serious, Hannah," he says swiping a hand through his close-cropped hair as he paces the room. "Right now my partner is over in medical attempting to identify the body of a soldier that was buried in the sand. A soldier who was found with a picture of you and Sarah."

"Sarah," the name escapes her lips on a sob. Hannah rockets to her feet, shaking with denial. "It can't be. They're wrong. They _have _to be wrong."

Booth attempts to embrace her only to have her push against his chest. "Hannah," he says softly.

She sops the tears away with the back of her wrist. "No, Seeley. Just..." she begins. "No, just no. I can't believe it."

"I know, okay?" he tells her. "I know."

"You can't possibly..."

Her tears shimmer like diamonds in the dim light of his quarters as he stops her in her tracks. He puts a hand on her shoulder and tilts her chin up. "Actually, I can and I do." He pauses for a moment and draws a deep breath. "A couple years ago, Bones was kidnapped by a serial killer and buried alive. I didn't think I was ever going to see her again."

He takes a step back and turns away as the memory hits him. It's something that has haunted him frequently. There were times he had shown up at her apartment with take-out just to see her and make sure she was really there. There were nights he had awoken drenched in a cold sweat from nightmares of not getting to her in time.

And then there were all the prayers. All the times he had hit his knees and thanked God that she was still with him. Thanked Him for letting him see that smoke-like cloud in the distance.

* * *

A puff of dirt catches his attention and it's as though his feet grow wings. He's running - flying really - down, down, down to the marker. To the sign he can only hope signals they're alive.

He's digging. Moving the dirt away. Praying for some sign. Then he feels it. A hand. _Her _hand. And he's pulling, tugging, struggling to bring her to the surface and back to him, back into his life.

And he does. Even dirty she's beautiful. He's never been envious of Jack Hodgins. Not until the moment that Angela Montenegro's lips seal over his in a tender kiss and he finds himself wishing like hell it was him and Brennan.

He aches to hold her close. To kiss her. To assure her that he'll always come for her. To show her what's in his heart. Instead, they just look at each other. He looks into her eyes and, at least for the time being, it's enough.

* * *

"You may not believe me," Booth says as he tells Hannah part of his - _their_ - story. " But I _do_ know what it's like."

"But Temperance isn't dead, Booth," she sobs. Tears fall freely from her green eyes. She sniffles as she thinks of the woman she loves. _Sarah. Sweet, shy Sarah._ "What if it's her, Booth? Oh, God. What if Sarah's dead?"

Booth wraps his arms around her as she collapses. He tries to think of words to comfort her, but in the end he can only offer the still silence of a patient embrace.

Nothing's been confirmed yet, but it doesn't look good. Telling her to have faith and wait it out isn't going to help. He knows what it's like. He's been there. He's sat helpless waiting for the squints to find a clue - any clue - to rescue Brennan. But this is different. This isn't a rescue mission. Very soon they'll know the victim's identity. They'll know whether or not Sarah is alive.

* * *

Brennan scans the information and samples she has been able to collect into the system and prepares an envelope for shipment to the Jeffersonian. She can't call Cam for a few more hours.

She walks to the door and sizes up the soldier standing just outside. She doesn't appreciate being watched. Feeling imprisoned. "I need the copies of Captain Peters medical and service records I requested."

He looks at her blankly. He doesn't move. He barely makes eye contact.

"You tell the General he gets me the information, _now_, or I call my contacts at the State Department and a federal prosecutor," she threatens. _She'll be doing that anyway._

The glean in her eyes sends him scurrying away. She walks back to the desk and takes a seat. She makes notes for herself and, leaning back in the worn task chair, rolls her shoulders in effort to relieve tension. She stares up at the ceiling. _This was not how things were supposed to go._

Logging into the museum's secure server, she opens her inbox. It's full. Full of messages she has no desire to read, but she needs the distraction. Scanning the headings, she quickly looks for things that require a response.

She grits her teeth. The head of the Maluku Project wants to know when she's planning to return. She fights the urge to send back a curt reply daring them to find another anthropologist with her skills. Instead, she sends a terse message stating that she would take as long as she needed.

She's wading through requests for assistance and messages from her family when the chat box pops up on the screen. She clicks 'accept' and Hodgins' face pops into view.

"Have you finished checking the body for trace evidence and particulates, Dr. B.?" he asks her.

She pulls up the images and drops them into the window to begin the transfer of the documents. "Some of this we won't be able to do anything with unless I send it back to the Jeffersonian," she tells him.

"I've been able to locate some of the other equipment in Paris, so I can conduct some of the analysis from here if you send samples." He sees the worn out look, the glassy eyes, the worry. He knows what she'll say because he knows she's proud and self-reliant. "Are you sure you don't want us to come..."

"I appreciate the thought, Dr. Hodgins; however, I think that would be extremely unwise." She takes a deep breath and tries to gather herself together.

Angela comes onto the screen. "Did you tell her?" she pushes her husband out of the way and sits in his place. "Look, Sweetie," she says, her tone sympathetic as she looks at her friend. "Say the word and we're on our way." She leans up and kisses Jack. "One of the perks of having a rich husband. I can go where I want, when I want."

Hodgins smiles at her before turning his eyes to the files. He gets a puzzled expression and quickly compares the insect imagery with her preliminary findings. "Babe, we left on the 22nd, right?" he asks, looking at Angela.

Her brow furrows. "We left the Saturday after Bren," she tells her husband.

He looks into the monitor at Brennan. "And we wrapped up the hoarder case around May 17th or so, right?"

Brennan nods. "That's correct. But what does that have to do with the murder?"

He looks at the record of insect activity and quickly factors in the effect being in sand would have on the body. "Given the level of insect activity and mummification due to the sandy environment - and keeping in mind that this is not as accurate as it would be if I had actual samples to..." he begins.

She cuts him off. Channeling her inner Booth, she looks at the entomologist warily. "Skip the preamble, Dr. Hodgins," she says. "I just need to know..."

Jack sighs. "I'll know more when the samples arrive tomorrow," he tells her. "But I think we can rule out Booth's involvement."

"You're sure?" her tone is almost pleading as she takes another look the attachments.

The Bug Man smiles softly and Angela falls into his embrace with a sigh of relief for their friend. "Unless Booth has a way to be working on a case with us while being halfway around the world at the same time, yes."

Brennan looks at the analysis. Hodgins is right - it appears that the murder and subsequent body dump occurred early to mid-May. _They were still in DC. Booth was innocent._


	13. Confrontations and Conversations

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones.

Chapter Thirteen: Confrontations and Conversations

Brennan storms into the general's office, evidence in hand. "General, I'd like..."

The man in question tosses his pen down and scowls disdainfully at the woman in front of him. "I gave strict orders that you were not to be left alone. How did you get past my assistant?"

Refusing to be intimidated, Brennan stalks toward the desk. "I'm not a prisoner," she tells him. "My presence here is at the behest of the State Department. I do not answer to you."

Murphy enters the office and gives a flustered salute. "I...I'm sorry, sir. I was on the phone with the MPs over in medical when Dr. Brennan marched past me and let herself in."

Davis rubs the bridge of his nose. "I don't know how you're used to doing things back home, and I don't particularly care to. What I do know is that this is my base and, therefore, my jurisdiction." He glares up at her from his chair before adding, "While you are here, you answer to me."

Brennan opens her mouth to protest and the older man shakes his head. Looking at the soldier behind her, he commands, "Kindly escort Dr. Brennan back to the medical facilities, Murphy." Turning back to his paperwork, he picks up his pen and waves them away with a flick of his wrist. "That will be all. Dismissed."

Brennan eyes the man warily. When he reaches for her, she maneuvers away from his grasp. "I'm a master in three types of martial arts," she warns coolly. "Touch me, and you'll regret it."

The general looks up from his scribbling. "Are we going to have a problem here?" he asks.

"Sir," she replies contemptfully, her eyes flickering briefly to the other occupant of the room. Once she confirms that he remains in position rather than advancing, she continues, "I believe this evidence is sufficient enough to clear my partner, Sergeant Major Booth, of any wrongdoing." She hands over the file and waits, watching his face.

He skims over the enclosed paperwork and test results before handing the file back to her. "I fail to see the relevance this information has on your presence in my office," he growls at her.

Brennan's posture remains rigid. "It has everything to do with why I am here," she states. "Disproving Booth's involvement means that we can utilize his vast investigative expertise to catch whoever did this."

He exhales and leans forward on the desk with narrowed eyes. "Exactly how does that change anything, Dr. Brennan?" His tone is biting, but she doesn't flinch. "He is still very friendly with the Burley woman."

Brennan crosses her arms. She sets her jaw and stares him directly in the face. Her gaze doesn't falter. "Because it appears you weren't listening during our last conversation, I will repeat myself." With a single finger, she stabs at the desk. "Seeley. Booth. Is. A. Good. Man." Taking a breath, she begins again. "He is the most honest man I know. We've been partners for over 5 years, he's known Ms. Burley for a few months. He arrested my father and brother on criminal charges - in front of me - and it did not effect our partnership. I can assure you that his relationship with Ms. Burley would not impact his ability to properly work this case. In fact," she says, backing away and moving towards the door. "It would likely make him work that much harder to prove the facts."

Refusing to be swayed, he glares at her. Any other time, he would likely admire her loyalty and conviction. "My decision stands," he says. "Seeley Booth is not to come anywhere near this case."

* * *

Booth paces the room. "Okay, Hannah, think. Think and tell me," he says to the blonde sitting on the edge of his cot. He walks to the desk and grabs a pad and pen. _Not notecards, but it would have to do. _"As much as you can remember about the last time you saw Sarah."

Hannah wrings her hands and takes a deep, though shaky, breath. "It was the end of April, maybe the beginning of May," she says softly. "I don't remember..."

He releases and exasperated breath. "Give me something - _anything_ - for Bones to go on," he says, "Believe me, I'm going much easier on you than the MPs will."

Hannah wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands and hiccups as she takes in air. "I know," she agrees quietly.

"Look," Booth says, "You're strong. You can do this." Pulling the chair over, he straddles it facing her. "Let's start at the beginning. You know - how you met, the whole 'don't-ask-don't-tell' thing."

"We met in college," she begins.

As the story unfolds, Booth learns of a relationship between two women - one confident in herself and sure of her sexuality, the other struggling to figure out who she was. He hears about the challenges of such a relationship. The back and forth, on and off. The bickering and giving in.

He laughs a little. "I get why you said we have a lot in common now," he says.

Hannah gives a sad smile. "Yeah, in some ways we really do..."

Booth knows they need to get through this quickly. "Okay, so you both graduated. You took a job with the paper and Sarah joined the Army," he repeats, helping her find her place again.

She nods. "We kind of went our separate ways then," she says, easing back into the story. She talks about how they ran into each other - completely by chance - three years ago. How she smiled as she left the bar thinking that she'd finally gotten closure. A smile touches her lips and makes it into her eyes when she tells him about how Sarah had run after her and they'd kissed in the rain. About a promise of things being different - and how they really _were_ - this time.

He hands her his handkerchief. "So, she got shipped here and you became a war correspondent to be closer to her," he fills in from their earlier discussions. "Tell me about the last time you saw her."

"It was a couple weeks before you got here," she tells him. She mentions spending a day at the local market. Seeking out places where they could be alone without the military finding out. About how Sarah managed to get a few days of leave, which they spent exploring a neighboring city. Then the picture that was found on the body. How they had used a timer and stood together against a desert back drop. How it had been one of the most sensual nights of their relationship, right up until the point where she had woken up in bed alone with a note.

Booth makes notes on his pad. "Do you have the note?"

"I may still have it," she responds. "When I started living on post, I hid or got rid of some things to protect her. The Army means everything to Sarah. She's an amazing nurse. I would never jeopardize her career. I love her."

He stands up and moves the chair back to it's spot by the desk. "Did she mention anyone? Any problems?"

She thinks about it for a moment. "She did say there was a man that kept asking her out. She never told me his name," she replies. "As far as people here were concerned, she was seeing someone back home. You don't think that..."

Booth rubs the back of his neck before turning his eyes to his companion. "I don't know what to think yet."

"But you're a cop, right? You've got to have some idea," she pleads with him.

"Look, I'm going to find Bones. They don't want me talking to her, but I want to give her this information and see if she's figured anything out yet." He pulls the notes from the pad and folds them up. "It's better that we don't talk about it. The less you know about what's going on, the less guilty you're going to look."

"Okay," she agrees. "I trust you, Seeley." Getting up, she starts to leave. "Thanks," she says softly. Turning to face him, she adds. "Thanks for believing me."

He nods. "We'll get it figured out," he tells her. His tone is laced with a certainty that comes from how well he knows his partner.

"I know," she whispers before slipping away.

Alone, Booth considers the layout of the base. He wonders where they've got Brennan stashed and if he can get to her. Cramming the notes into his pocket, he looks at his watch. Knowing Bones, she would refuse to stay on post because of Davis's treatment of her.

Shaking his head with a slight grin, he realizes that this is the second time - and likely not the last - he'd be sneaking away to see her. And this time, if he got caught he'd be in even more trouble than he would have been before.


	14. Pretend You're Not My Partner

**A/N: **I've read a lot of stories that have bridged the Season 5/Season 6 gap but I don't think this has been done before. If it has, I haven't read it. I shopped this idea to several of my regular readers and got a very positive response, so I don't want any complaints that this is some sort of a "party foul."

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Bones.

Chapter Fourteen: Pretend You're Not My Partner

Brennan looks at Murphy as they walk down the hall. He has the stiff gait of an officer, but she detects something else in him that she can't pinpoint. He leads her back into the medical building, but she stops in her tracks. "I won't be doing anymore today," she tells him. "I'm exhausted from traveling and I'm waiting for results from my team."

"But General Davis gave strict instruction," he stammers as she walks ahead of him.

Brennan grabs her bag from the corner of the room and slips her laptop inside. "I'll be back tomorrow morning at 7 a.m.," she tells him. "I trust that Captain Peters medical files will be here when I arrive."

He grabs her arm tightly as she walks past him. "I'm afraid you don't understand," he growls at her.

She twists away and sweeps her leg, knocking him off of his feet. His head slams into the wall. She looks down at him with raised eyebrows. "I warned you not to touch me," she hisses before leaving him struggling to pick himself up.

She walks the short distance from the base to the town easily. Seeing the vendors at the local market still have out their wares, she walks over to the tables. The weight of the different objects feels good in her hands. It almost makes her forget the tasks that await her and the fact that she will be forced away from Booth for at least a while longer.

* * *

He stands in an alleyway and watches her flit through the different vendors in the marketplace. He smiles as he sees her face light up as she picks over chunky, handmade jewelry. It's not often that he's gotten to see her like this, exploring another culture in her anthropological glory. Taking in the little things that make this group of individuals different from others.

He waits impatiently in the shadows. Watching. Wishing she would draw nearer to his hiding place. And when she does, he grabs her wrist and pulls her close. "You better watch it, Bones," he tells her when she doesn't fight him. "I could have been a stranger."

She smirks up at him, her hand sliding over his cheek. "And if you were a stranger, your arm would be broken," she responds dryly. "Along with your nose and..."

"Ouch!" he says with a grimace. "I get it, okay?" He cradles her against his chest. "Bones," he murmurs softly against her ear as his lips brush a trail over her cheek to collide with hers.

She sighs, her lips turning up in a smile he feels rather than sees. "Booth," she says softly as she endeavors to escape his wandering mouth. "Booth, I know you're innocent."

He continues his tender exploration, reveling in being able to kiss her - to feel her in his arms - again. His fingers glide over her back, massaging and drawing her closer. "I know that already, Baby," he whispers against her lips.

She pushes against his chest. "You're quite distracting," she says as her eyes narrow. "I've spoken to the General, but he still refuses to let you work with me."

Booth heaves a sigh, but doesn't release her. He looks into her eyes and sees the look she gets when she's intently focused on a case. He _loves _that look, but he's more interested in the newest facet of their relationship. "I saw that coming," he says as he kisses her temple.

"I'm going to contact the State Department and Car..." He silences her rambling with a kiss and takes her hand. "Where are we going?" she asks him.

He grins at her and pulls her along behind him. He knows just the place. Beautiful. Secluded. "You'll see," he tells her.

A brisk walk takes them away from the crowd and onto the slope of a gentle hill where a patch of soft, green grass grows beneath a graceful fig tree. The scent of ripe fruit is sweet and sticky in the afternoon heat. He leans her against the trunk and kisses her throat.

"Booth," she moans, "We really should talk about the..."

He takes her mouth. "Bones," he utters between kisses. "Pretend you're not my partner," he breathes against her lips as his hands pull her shirt loose of her shorts. They glide over the flesh of her slim waist as his tongue dances over her lips. He pulls away to look at her. "Just be the woman I love."

She gulps at the lust and desire in his eyes, delights in the hard heat of his body as he leans into her. _This is a side of him she's never seen before. And she likes it. A lot. _"What's come over you?" she asks as nimble fingers work the fastenings of her blouse.

His breath is hot as it fans over the skin of her chest. "I want you," he says plainly. _Flick_. Another button is released, this one revealing the creamy flesh of her breasts as they rise and fall beneath the nude satin of her bra.

"Now?" she pants as he continues to caress her. His touch creates a burning need. A need for something more than just the satisfaction of mere biological urges. "Shouldn't we go to my...?"

The question dies on her lips as he pulls her into a crushing embrace. His lips curve into a cocky grin and his eyes challenge her. "Are you calling me a prude, Temperance?"

The sound of her given name makes her shiver with desire. Her lips seek his, but he holds back. "Booth?" she questions on an uneven breath.

He eases her down until she sits on the ground. He tugs the fabric of her shirt away and it floats softly to the grass behind her as he makes quick work of her shorts. "You've got a lot to learn about me, Baby," he tells her wickedly as his hands brush her thighs. He moves toward her, forcing her to lay back in the grass as he devours her in a hungry kiss.

She pulls at his shirt, suddenly eager for the touch of his skin against hers. As he teases her, working her body into a humming frenzy, she realizes something that serves to strengthen her desire: they've been making love for years in their arguments. The back and forth, give and take banter is exactly what's happening between them in this moment. And she's lost. In him. In the way they are when they're together.

_Plink._ The soft sound of metal on metal - of dog tags against the medallion around her neck - drags her back to their tangled limbs. Warm flesh on warm flesh as he moves over her. In her.

Slowing, he tangles his fingers in her hair and looks into her eyes. "I fantasized about this," he says, kissing her. His tongue teases hers, stroking against it expertly at a different rhythm than he's set for their bodies. "Taking you here." - _stroke - _"Under this tree." -_ stroke - _ "Just like I'm doing now."

His voice and movement cause her to shatter in his arms. She arches beneath him, head rolling back and fingers curling into the thick grass beneath her. As she rides the wave of her release, she lets go of the foliage and clings to him. Her nails biting into his shoulders. She moans his name and matches his every stroke. He spasms and his body relaxes against hers.

They lay there for a while, struggling to catch their breath. He kisses her face. _Figs are never going to be the same again._ "I love you," he tells her softly.

Her eyes meet his. _He is her center. And now, more than ever, she knows they'll hold._ "I love you, Booth," she answers, her fingers tracing over the muscular lines of his back.

When they come apart, they dress quickly. He gives her a lingering kiss. "I swear to you," he says, his hands stroking down her arms. "When we get home, I may not let you out of bed for a week."

She smirks. "Just a week?" she replies as she buttons her blouse, squinting at him in the late afternoon sun.

He helps her to her feet and takes her into his arms. "I'll keep you there for as long as you'll let me," he tells her.

Her brow furrows in confusion even as her arms loop around his waist. "So, when we talked about intercourse in the SUV..." she starts.

A very Boothy grin plays on his features. His eyes crinkle at their corners. "There's a difference between being private and being a prude, Bones," his lips find the shell of her ear. "Besides, it was difficult enough just to look at you some days. Talking to you about sex probably would've made my head explode."

"I don't know what that means," she says slowly.

"Yeah, you do, Bones," he smiles as he kisses her. "Think about it."

As they stare into each other's eyes, her hand smoothes up the wall of his chest. She hears the rustle of the papers he's tucked into his pocket. He removes the notes and hands them to her. "I talked to Hannah," he asserts. "I got some information about Sarah. I don't know what the MPs will think to ask her and I wanted you to have as much as possible."

She grins at him. "I'm sure you've gotten something that will help," she answers. "I don't trust the way they're handling things. I feel like they're attempting to manipulate the facts."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Something just doesn't feel right."

She shakes her head. "You and your gut."

"Just be careful, okay?" he asks, slipping a hand beneath the curtain of her hair to cup her neck. "I need to know that you're safe."

She thinks for a moment about the events with Murphy. She knows that he'd kill for her and that, while he wouldn't kill the young captain for his actions, there would be consequences to deal with if she shared what happened. "I will," she promises. _She can take care of herself._

"I wish I didn't have to leave you," he says as his lips slide over hers.

"But we both know that you have to get back," she concedes.

"I'll see you soon," he insists.

"Soon," she repeats, her fingers taking the place of his lips. She hears his whispered words of love but before she can reply, he's gone. And she's left with the afternoon's memories and the sweet smell of fruit and grass on her skin.


End file.
